


Broken Dreams

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Story of Three Boys [17]
Category: Glee
Genre: Brothership, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-01
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sophomores, painkillers, and not the best way to spend the end of September. Wake them up when September ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

Kurt's still learning.

He knew, sort of, how to be a boyfriend. He knows how to date someone, to call them and text them and see them regularly and kiss them softly.

He's still learning how to be a _partner_ though, because he's never done that before. He's comforted by the thought that Puck's still learning, too, that they're developing how to do this together. Neither of them knows How To Do It, as if there's some set of rules out there. They're fumbling their way towards How It's Done, though, hand in hand (and sometimes cock in hand, or cock in ass, or cock in mouth, but that's another thing that they're learning quite well).

It's different. It's not about seeing Puck regularly and calling him, those though are still present. No, it's about considering the other person, sometimes first, sometimes simultaneously with yourself. It's feeling joy for their good equal to what you'd feel for yourself–and pain, too, for their bad.

Kurt's still learning, but he thinks that he must not being doing too badly.

 

It’s all talk and it was only gonna be talk until Johannson’s fist connects with Puck’s face, but at that point, it’s _on_ and there’s no walking away. Johannson’s probably got thirty, maybe even forty pounds on Puck, and he’s also got Rick and Fordham backing him up. Even with Rick screaming “stop!” like a little bitch, Johannson’s more than enough man to handle Puckerman. Dude doesn’t even have his little other fag-loving “glock” buddies there to back him up.

Johannson’s been watching his mouth and watching his back since Hudson, Puckerman, Chang, and Evans set their “rules,” and fuck if he’s gonna keep on with that. The seniors think they run the show, but they don’t run shit. They’re all _talk_ , like they can make the queers any less gross by just slapping everybody with enough fucking _conversation_. Johannson doesn’t even know why Puckerman _cares_ what they say about that little faggot, unless it’s because he’s Hudson’s brother. Johannson hits Puck again, just because it pisses him off that Puckerman got involved, and damn, it feels good to finally let it out.

When Johannson hears the locker room door fly open and the clatter of feet, he’s nervous for a minute, but then he sees it’s just Hudson, and if there’s one “glock” that’s 100% bullshit and no balls, it’s Hudson. Even as Hudson’s backpack hits Johannson across the chest and sends him flying backwards, he’s thinking, _Yeah, that’s as bad as it’s gonna get. Now I’m gonna get the big lecture from queerboy’s pussywhipped brother._

He keeps thinking that all the way until Hudson’s foot comes down on his knee.

 

Santana has the firm opinion that Cheerios practice? So gay.

Not lame or stupid, but _gay_ , because she spends 75% of her attention on looking up Brittany’s skirt or admiring her legs, and only 25% actually listening to whatever stupid directions Sylvester is screaming at them that day. So for Santana, Cheerios practice is really gay.

Which explains why she doesn’t even really notice that the football team isn’t on the field on Monday afternoon, and when Quinn starts talking about it with some of the others, once practice is over, Santana looks down the field and shrugs. Huh. Yeah, so there’s just a few of them sitting around on the bleachers, and that’s weird, but maybe it’s some new coaching technique of Beiste’s. Quinn joins her and Brittany and shakes her head in agreement at Santana’s look. Nope, none of the glocks are out there. Santana does bump into Karofsky, and all he says is that ‘something went down in the locker room.’

He probably doesn’t even know what it’s about. Santana almost feels bad for dumping his sorry ass, because if she hadn’t, she could demand he go find out and report back, but instead she just scowls and walks back over to Brittany.

Santana hates Facebook; she’s sure it’d be good to check it periodically, but even with the potential juicy gossip of a fight in the locker room, it’s just not worth her time on Monday night, not when Brittany stays for dinner and studying, and then Stef calls and talks to both of them for an hour. Santana’s crawling into bed when she remembers that she was curious, and she makes a mental note to talk to Puckerman the next morning. He probably knows what happened.


	2. Episode 3x02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [playlist for this episode](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL253C609A46781211)

“... the dream that you wish will come true.” Brittany holds the last note and then beams as she looks around the room.

“What an interesting choice for the assignment,” Schuester says with a pained smile, but luckily, Brittany doesn’t notice. It’s obvious that Santana does, because she’s giving Schue a look even as she’s smiling at Brittany and clapping. “Who else would like to perform today?”

“I would,” Tina volunteers, and Rachel’s hand sinks down. Puck shakes his head. He’s a little impressed that Schue didn’t just automatically call Rachel to the front. Instead, he nods at Tina, who hands her sheet music to Brad with a smile. “I’m doing the Eurythmics’ ‘Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)’.” Tina clearly is having a lot of fun with the song and her performance, and near the end of the song, everyone else stands up too, dancing as she finishes singing.

“That was a lot of fun, Tina, thanks,” Mr. Schue tries to redirect them all back to their seats as the music ends. “Before we practice for Invitationals. Puck.”

Puck looks up and raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“How is the fundraising portion of Invitationals going?”

“We have three schools confirmed plus two more who are going to come and would love to perform if something happens to one of the others. Tickets are selling. Um. I thought we could do some concessions to squeeze more money out of these people.” He grins. “So everyone needs to volunteer to bring something. If you or your folks have something to donate that we could raffle, that’d be more money.”

There’s some shuffling and no one will meet his eye for a moment, then Finn pipes up. “I know Mom’d love to bake something. She still mentions how I didn’t ask her to make anything for that bake sale we did sophomore year.”

“Yeah, I guess I can ask my momma,” Mercedes nods, and there’s a general murmur of agreement around the room.

“Great!” Schue claps his hands. “Before we practice ‘November Rain,’ I thought perhaps we should revisit the topic of colleges and plans for next year.” Puck notes that Schue is almost pointedly _not_ looking in Puck’s direction, or really even at the entire side of the room where Puck’s sitting.

“What a great idea!” Rachel immediately responds with enthusiasm. “I’m sure everyone has a better idea of their goals now that we’re well-settled into the school year.”

Tina nods. “Rachel’s right. We should talk about it. Maybe some of us are even interested in some of the same schools.”

“Great!” Schue nods. “Tina, do you want to start?”

“Um, sure.” Tina smiles gamely. “I’m mainly looking in New England. Wellesley, Boston College, Brown, Bowdoin, Hampshire, UMass-Amherst, and just for fun, Harvard.” She grins. “I don’t think I’ll get in, and even if I did, I don’t think I want to go there, but it’s kind of fun to get mail and email from them.”

Everyone grins and a few people laugh. “Are you going to go visit any of those schools?” Sam asks.

“I think so. Probably in late October or November, for a few, and then I’ll wait and see in the spring where I get in.”

“Well, I had been thinking about Michigan,” Finn says, “but then that recruiter came to the last game and now I’m actually considering applying to U of Wisconsin. Funny how one little thing can totally change what you’re thinking of doing, you know?”

“That must’ve been an impressive recruiter,” Schue raises his eyebrows. “Tell us more about that.”

“He just really took the time to listen to me, which I kind of didn’t expect,” Finn explains. “I mean, I thought recruiters would only care about the football stuff, not what I wanted to do academically. He also seemed pretty stoked about me being in glee and PFLAG.”

“Really? That’s surprising,” Quinn speaks up. “I thought that all they cared about was how many points you made. No offense, guys.”

“No, Mr. Cosson was really talking up the different programs they had and apparently Wisconsin has some new initiative where they’re trying to make the school more, I dunno, gay friendly,” Finn says. “They’re trying to get the athletes involved and everything.”

“That’s cool,” Sam interjects. “The guy from LSU mainly talked about the football program, but he was still pretty interesting, too. I do kinda want to go back south if I can. I always wanted to go to UTK but there’s no way I’d get to play there.”

“I still want to go somewhere that I can’t count the number of black kids on my hands. It’d be nice to have to use my toes at least,” Mercedes says with a shake of her head. “I’m looking at some places in Georgia and Florida. Emory, Oglethorpe, FSU, Spelman, Agnes Scott.”

“Aren’t Agnes Scott and Spelman both women’s colleges?” Santana asks thoughtfully.

“Yes.” Mercedes nods sharply. “Both in Hot-lanta, too.”

“Kurt, you should tell them your plans,” Finn urges.

Kurt looks up, almost startled, which amuses Puck. “Oh. I really want to get into Marymount Manhattan. They have a musical theatre minor as well as a concentration in writing for the stage.”

“That sounds really cool. When I’ve looked on a few of the online sites, most people that want to go to New York City assume that NYU is their only option, which is kind of ridiculous. That program sounds perfect for you, though,” Mike adds.

“Thanks,” Kurt smiles, and Puck can tell he is surprised. “What about you? Where are you looking?”

“I really like the look of the contemporary dance program at Boston Conservatory. My parents want me to apply to Juilliard, too, but I don’t know if it’s the right fit. Other than that, I’m still looking at various dance schools.”

“Juilliard is my first choice!” Rachel breaks in. “Though I’m also going to apply to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, Barnard, and NYU.” She beams as she looks around the room.

“I want to go to FSU,” Brittany breaks in, apropos of nothing. “They have a dance major _and_ a circus. I really want to do the circus.”

“That’s awesome,” Finn pipes up. “Like trapeze and all that?”

“Yes!” Brittany grins. “It looks _really_ cool. And a lot safer than flying out of a cannon for Coach Sylvester.”

“Almost anything would be safer than that,” Quinn agrees, smiling kindly at Brittany. “Personally, I’ve been looking out west. Austin College, St. John’s in New Mexico, Colorado College, and UC Boulder are at the top of the list right now.”

“Neat,” Santana offers. “I’ve been looking at a few places on the west coast. Mills, Evergreen State, maybe even Reed.”

“I thought you were going to Tribeca,” Brittany says. “You don’t think you can get in?” Kurt looks over at Puck then and they share a quick snicker, which no one notices.

“It’s a neighborhood, not a school, Britt,” Santana says patiently. “And the Pacific Ocean looks pretty awesome.”

“What about you, Artie?” Finn asks. “You haven’t said anything yet.”

“I’m still trying to narrow down my list,” Artie admits. “I think USC will definitely make it on there, however.”

Puck rolls his eyes. He’s not sure what the point of this whole exercise is supposed to be. Schue’s just been sitting there nodding throughout the last ten minutes, ten minutes that, to be honest, they probably should be using to practice their numbers for invitationals. His guess is that Schue had some kind of Ms. Pillsbury-induced epiphany about supporting their dreams or whatever, which may or may not have been brought on by Puck surprising the hell out of Schue by getting accepted to college.

“What about you, Puck? Have you added any schools to your list?” Rachel turns to him with a wide, earnest smile, clearly trying to redeem herself.

Puck shakes his head. “No, since I got into Hunter, that’s my back-up.”

Finn rolls his eyes at Puck. “Dude, it’s like pulling teeth with you. Tell them where else.”

“MSM and Mannes,” Puck concedes, rolling his own eyes at Finn. He slouches a little in his chair, arms folded over his chest, and Kurt looks at him sympathetically.

“What’s MSM?” Sam asks, seemingly interested.

“Manhattan School of Music.” Puck shifts a little in his chair. Next thing he knows, they’re going to want to know why he’s wanting music school.

“Is that a theater school?” Mercedes asks. “Or is it a singing thing?”

And there it is. Puck shakes his head. “They’re both music schools.” Kurt looks at him and rolls his eyes a little.

“Stubborn,” he mouths.

“Oh, ok,” Mercedes answers. “And that means?”

Puck shrugs uncomfortably. “I, uh. Want to major in composition.” He folds his arms more tightly across his chest.

“See? Wasn’t so hard,” Kurt mouths silently, and Puck rolls his eyes a little and shakes his head.

“Puck is _very private_ about his private life,” Finn says, winking at Kurt. “It’s hard to get him to share anything, like, ever.”

Puck just narrows his eyes in Finn’s direction. “Yeah, see if I get up after five hours of sleep next time you need music.”

Finn just makes a ridiculous face in his direction as if to say _yeah right_. “Whatever, dude. ‘Cause I totally had to twist your arm. Didn’t the conversation go something like, ‘Hey could you write some music for my--’ ‘YEAH SURE!’?”

“Keep telling yourself that, bro, but I am not that enthusiastic that early in the morning.” Puck shakes his head and smirks. “Especially not when we were all up until, what, 1 the night before.”

Kurt shakes his head, lips pressed together in an obvious attempt to keep from laughing out loud, his dimples giving him away. Finn cuts his eyes in Kurt’s direction and mouths “uncool.” This just makes Kurt start giggling out loud, shoulders hunched over a little.

“Oh!” Rachel exclaims. “ _You_ wrote the music for it! No offense, Finn, but I had wondered how you managed to write the music for the lyrics.”

“None taken,” Finn snorts. “Like I could write music. That’s _hard_.”

“Wait. Are you saying Puck wrote the music to ‘Pretending’?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, you guys didn’t think _I_ came up with that, did you? I just wrote the words,” Finn says. “Puck’s the musical genius. I’m just the guy with a poem on a hotel note pad.”

“It’s not the first time we’ve sung to one of Puck’s songs,” Rachel adds with a smile, and Puck fights the urge to groan. Sure, spill all his secrets at once.

“It’s not?”

Finn puts his hand up to his forehead in an L.

“Oh my god. _Puck_ left the sheet music in here?!?” Santana’s staring at him as if his writing music is some kind of outrage.

Puck just nods.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Puck?” Mr. Schue speaks up at last, a considering expression on his face.

“Didn’t really make a difference, did it?”

“Would you have taken it as seriously if he had?” Finn asks. His tone is friendly and he’s smiling, but there’s a little pinch around his eyes that indicates this is a genuine challenge of Schue’s question.

“Well, of course,” Schue blusters, “the whole point was for all of you to write original songs, of course I wanted to know who contributed what to the process.”

Finn knits up his eyebrows a little and makes a noncommittal noise.

“There’s a difference between contributing to a process and actually writing songs,” Kurt says almost nonchalantly, not meeting Schue’s eyes. “Don’t you think?” He cuts his eyes to the side and smiles wryly at Puck for a moment.

Schue just sputters for a moment. “Of-of course. I didn’t mean to minimize the impact or importance of Puck’s contribution–or composition, rather.” He pauses for a breath, and when no one challenges him on that statement, he changes the subject abruptly. “Finn, Rachel, can the two of you practice your duet outside of rehearsal time?” He waits for them to nod before continuing. “Let’s go through ‘November Rain,’ everyone, and Thursday afternoon, we’ll meet in the auditorium.”

 

Kurt drops Puck back at the school after dual enrollment just after 3, which means he’s finished changing and just lacing up his cleats when the locker room door opens and voices start to spill in.

“--the 49ers. Man, that’s is just so messed up.”

“I know, right?”

“It’s easier when fags are fags,” says another voice, and Puck is pretty sure it’s Johannson,  
which means the other two voices probably belong to Rickenbacker and Fordham.

“Shut up, Johannson,” hisses Rickenbacker. Bingo.

“What?” Johannson asks, his voice full of bravado. “The bell hasn’t rung; Hudson’s still in class and I don’t see anybody else in here to defend the honor of all the world’s queers.”

Puck clenches his fist. Yeah, he’s had a feeling that they were just keeping their trash talk on the dl, but he doesn’t like being right. Not about this.

“Not like you can tell anymore,” Fordham says, disgust evident in his voice. “The ‘49ers making one of those gay PSAs is just _fucked_. Which one of ‘em do you think’s the fag, anyway? Can’t be Evanson.”

“Maybe it’s the new kid. Goldberg,” Rickenbacker says.

“Wouldn’t it be fucked up if it’s one of the linemen?” Johannson laughs and Fordham makes a gagging noise. “Ugh. Can you imagine having a giant queer covering your ass?”

Puck stands quietly, hands still coiled into fists. He’s tempted to burst around the corner and make a comment about how it could even be the halfback, but he’s just in control enough to know that when he comes out, he doesn’t want it to be in a fit of rage.

“When they look like everybody else, you can’t even make sure they aren’t planning on grabbing you when you aren’t looking,” Fordham complains. “That’s just sick.”

“Kinda makes you appreciate the ones who actually look like fairies,” Rickenbacker says. “I mean, no surprises right.”

“Like Hudson’s brother?” Johannson snorts. “Dude is a _hooooo_ MO. No mystery there.”

“I dunno,” Fordham says. “I’m not even sure he’s really a dude. No way you can squeeze a package into those lady pants.”

Puck tightens his jaw, because staying quiet is getting harder and harder. How fucking _dare_ they? He knows he’s angry because it’s _Kurt_ , not just general trash talk, but he’s beyond the point of caring.

“Gross. Like one of those she-males. No junk, dude. That shit’s nasty.”

“Probably why he’s always looking for a dick, ‘cause he hasn’t got one of his own.”

**Slam!**

They fall silent as Puck closes his locker door and rounds the corner.

“You want to repeat that? No, on second thought. Don’t. How about you take that back?”

“How about you mind your own business, _Puckerman_?” Johannson says, sneering.

“You _made_ it my business by bringing your shit into this locker room, Johannson.”

Rickenbacker steps between Johannson and Puck. “Look, we were just talking shit. We’re sorry, man. We shouldn’t have and we won’t do it again.”

“Fuck that, Rick,” Johannson snarls. “I’m not sorry. Why should I be sorry, just because Puckerman here has decided to go all gay crusader ‘cause of his Glock buddies?”

Puck’s eyes narrow and his hands clench back into fists. “You should be sorry because you’re a fucking asshole, is why you should be sorry. You should be sorry because we _told_ you the rules the first day of school. Remember that? Clearly Rickenbacker does.”

“Maybe if you’d done a little song and dance about it we’d remember them better,” Johannson says, and Fordham high fives him. Rickenbacker just looks at Puck with wide eyes and shakes his head in a tiny ‘no’ to indicate he doesn’t agree with the other two.

“Oh, you want to dance?” Puck sneers, bringing his fists up. “C’mon. Or do you want to talk to Coach about morale– _again_?”

“Luke,” Rickenbacker mutters under his breath. “Chill the fuck out.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rick,” Fordham snaps. “Quit acting like such a faggot.”

Puck can just make out the sound of the bell ringing through the thick locker room door. “Oh you did _not_ just do that,” he growls and takes a step forward.

“Three of us, one of you,” Fordham says. “I think I’ll be ok.”

“Why are you so worried about that little princess anyway?” Johannson asks. “He your special lady friend or something?”

Puck’s vision goes white for a minute, or at least that’s how it feels, and he feels like his veins are on fire, he’s so consumed with rage. The slenderest thread reminds him of his thought from earlier, that he doesn’t want to do it like _this_ , and he spits out the first thing that comes to mind. “You two seem awfully cozy and knowledgeable about how two guys hook up, Johannson.”

“Oh, _fuck you_ ,” Johannson hollers as he pulls his fist back and decks Puck in the eye.

Puck stumbles backwards, not really anticipating the hit, and lashes out, his fist glancing across Fordham’s shoulder. It’s been almost two years since he went to fight club, and a year since he’s been in a fight at all, thanks to that stint in juvie. His rep had been enough to keep people at bay–until now.

“Shit!” Rickenbacker yells. “Shit! Stop it! Coach is gonna kill us!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Fordham screams, leveling a punch to Puck’s rib cage. Puck drops to one knee, wondering how this all went to shit so quickly, and tries to tackle Johannson down. Fordham flings out his leg and catches Puck in the mouth, luckily missing a direct kick to the teeth. Puck can feel his lip burn and after just a moment he can taste blood on his tongue. The He can feel someone else hit his eye _again_ and what feels like a foot hits his stomach but not nearly as hard as it could. Dimly, he hears the door open, and he hopes that luck or God or someone is with him, and that it’s Finn or someone, not some of the other linemen.

“Get off him!” Finn shouts, and there’s a loud thwack that sounds like a backpack hitting someone across the head, which, incidentally, appears to be exactly what’s happened as Johannson goes flying backwards. “Sam, go get Coach!”

Puck slumps the rest of the way to the floor, leaning against the lockers. _Oh. Nice. Sam, too._ Puck squints up and sees Rickenbacker holding Fordham back, Fordham’s arms pinned and Rickenbacker straining with Fordham’s weight. He closes his good eye and groans. _Fuck_.

“Puck. _Puck_.” Finn’s down in Puck’s face now. “Dude, you ok?”

“Wanna kill the bastards,” Puck grunts out. “Saying... saying shit.” His split lip makes it burn a little as he talks. “Kurt.”

Finn doesn’t say anything. He just stands up, crosses to Johannson in exactly two strides, and belts him across the face so hard that Johannson falls back into the locker with a resounding clang. Finn then picks up one foot and stomps, _hard_ , on Johannson’s knee. “Stay down,” Finn growls, “Or I do the other one.”

The door creaks open again, and Puck thinks he recognizes the distinctive sound of Coach Beiste entering the room. Sure enough, a moment later, he hears her voice. “Puckerman? Hey, kid, you okay?”

Puck raises his head and squints his good eye open. “Told ‘em... not to talk that way.”

Coach Beiste gives him a quizzical look and glances over to Finn. “Hudson? You know what happened?”

“Looks like they jumped Puck,” Finn pants. “I think Johannson might have hit his knee on the locker when I pulled him off.” He gives Johannson a hard look.

“Did they say something else?” Sam pipes up, and Puck turns his head that direction. _Oh. Sam’s back._ “Because they’ve been... we told them not to say that stuff, but.”

Puck can kind of feel Coach’s gaze on him, and he nods.

“Shit!” Mike exclaims. _Hi, Mike_ , Puck’s brain absently adds. “Sorry, Coach.”

“Johannson and his buddies don’t have very good manners,” Finn says, his tone harsh and his breathing still heavy. “They must have waited until they could catch one of us alone. Guess they didn’t like the rules.”

“I’m lost, boys. What kind of things are they saying? What rules?” Coach sounds genuinely confused, but also genuinely concerned.

“These guys thought it would be a good idea to crack some nasty comments about gay people,” Finn explains. “In general. _My brother_ in particular. We let them know that this team wasn’t gonna tolerate that kind of behavior. We _thought_ we made it clear what the rules of behavior were gonna be.” Finn eyes Johannson, still rolling around on the floor. “I guess they don’t have a real steep learning curve.”

Puck can hear Coach exhale heavily. “Well, boys. Johannson. Fordham. Rickenbacker. I think you ought to go wait in my office.” Puck decides that lying down sounds like a really good idea, and leans his head over onto the bench before just crawling into the floor and resting his head on his arms. “Hudson, Evans, Chang, I’m real proud of you boys. You too, Puckerman.”

Finn kneels on the ground next to Puck. “Puck. Dude. Are you ok?” He leans in closer and whispers, “Do you need me to get Kurt?”

Puck nods, a little reluctantly, because he knows Kurt’s gonna freak. “S’okay,” he says after another beat. “Just hurts. Fucking Fordham got my ribs.”

Finn pats Puck gently on the shoulder, just once, and says, “Be right back, brother.”

 

Kurt is listening to music, pulling up in front of his dad’s shop when the phone rings. He looks down to double check who’s calling, surprised at the ring tone, and frowns.

“Finn?” he asks, voice puzzled as he answers.

“You at the shop already?” Finn asks, and his voice sounds strained and a little breathy, not a normal tone for Finn.

“Just pulled up. Why?” Kurt narrows his eyes. “Finn, what’s going on?”

“Listen, uh.” Finn sighs heavily. “Can you come back to the school? It’s. You just need to come back.”

“What’s wrong?” Kurt’s voice is getting higher as he speaks. “Finn?” He starts the Navigator back up and puts it in reverse. “Talk to me, Finn.”

“Ok. First, promise you won’t drive crazy on the way back over,” Finn demands.

“You aren’t reassuring me here.” Kurt’s voice is shrill, and his foot gets heavier on the accelerator.

“Puck was in a fight. I think he’s gonna be ok, but he’s pretty beat up. He...” Finn’s voice catches a little. “I asked if he wanted me to call you and he said yes, so I think he must be hurting pretty bad.”

“ _WHAT?_ ” Kurt is briefly thankful that he is alone in the car. “What. the. fuck. is going on, Finn Hudson?”

“Remember those douchebags who were talking shit the first day of school? Apparently they took it upon themselves to let Puck know they didn’t like the rules.”

Kurt almost absently flips someone off as he pulls through an intersection. “They? Why... where...?” Kurt shakes his head. “How many?”

“Two or three,” Finn says, bitterly. “Not sure if Rickenbacker was involved or just catching the show.”

“Fuck,” Kurt swears again. “All right, I’m nearly there. Where am I going?”

“Locker room. I’ll meet you outside the door.”

“Kay.” Kurt drops the phone without bothering to say goodbye and speeds down the road approaching the school, the traffic from the end of the day still flowing the other way. Kurt pulls into a spot and hurries towards the locker rooms, face set and jaw clenched.

Finn’s waiting outside the locker room when Kurt rushes up. “Finn?”

“Locker room’s empty except for Puck,” Finn says. “You want me to go in with you? You ok?”

“I’m fine,” Kurt manages to say. “Is... How bad?”

“Bad enough,” Finn responds, then presses his lips together until they look bloodless.

“Can he _walk_ , Finn?”

Finn shakes his head. “I dunno, Kurt. He hasn’t actually stood up yet. He got pretty knocked around. Coach suggested we get him over to the walk-in clinic.”

Kurt looks away for a moment and swallows. “Stay here for a few moments?” He reaches for the door.

“Of course. If I go to practice now I’m gonna kill someone, anyway.”

“Are they at practice?” Kurt’s nostrils flare, and his voice reaches so far up into the higher register that he’s almost squeaking.

“What?” Finn asks. “Oh hell no. I just...I got into the fight a little and I’m still pretty hopped up. If I get on the field I’m gonna hurt myself or somebody else.”

Kurt just shakes his head and grasps the handle. “All right.”

 

Puck hears Coach move to the door of the locker room, telling whoever was about to come in that practice is going to start fifteen minutes late, and to go wait on the field. “Chang, you stand out there and tell the rest of them?” Mike must nod, because Puck hears his footsteps leaving. “Evans, you go on out to the field. Take ‘em through these plays.” She must hand him something, because it sounds like papers shuffling.

“Sure thing, Coach.” Sam’s feet come closer. “You okay, dude?” Puck just nods and Sam moves away. “Feel better, man.”

“Hudson said he’d be back in a moment. You okay if I go ahead and talk to those guys?” Beiste asks, and Puck nods again. “Okay. You think about going to the walk-in clinic, okay? Get that eye checked out.”

Puck feels like he’s done nothing but nod for minutes now, and Beiste’s footsteps recede as the door swings shut. A moment passes before he hears Finn’s distinct footfall returning.

“Kurt’s on his way, man,” Finn says, softly. “I’m gonna go out and meet him, make sure he’s not gonna have a heart attack when he comes in and sees you, ok?”

Puck would snort if he could muster the energy and he didn’t think it would hurt, so he just nods. “mkay,” he slurs after a moment.

He lies there for awhile, though he’s not really sure how long, before the door opens again, and he half-smiles in spite of himself at the sound of those footsteps. “Oh, god,” he hears Kurt say, and then Kurt’s hand is on his arm. He squints with his good eye to see Kurt kneeling next to him. “Puck.”

“Hey,” he grunts.

“Damn.” Kurt sits heavily and runs his fingers lightly over Puck’s face, avoiding the parts that hurt the worst, so Puck thinks he must be starting to bruise already. “What happened?”

Puck reaches out and grabs Kurt’s hand in his, squeezing it. “Stupid sophomores. Saying shit. Guess I shoulda waited for backup.”

Kurt squeezes his hand in return. “What kind of shit, Puck?”

“49ers It Gets Better vid. Queers. You.” The last word is said a little more quietly, and Puck closes his eye again.

“You can’t fight everyone that doesn’t like me, baby.” Kurt’s tone is amused but sad.

“Can try,” Puck argues. “Shouldn’t say it where I hafta hear it,” he adds, and Kurt doesn’t say anything else on the subject.

“I’m supposed to take you to the immediate care place. Can you stand up?”

Puck starts to purse his lips, then winces and stops. “I’ll try.” He pushes his arms underneath him and manages to get back into a seated position. He takes a deep breath. “Really, it’s my eye throbbing now.”

“Now?”

Puck wants to wince at Kurt’s tone, but he also wishes his lip didn’t have a big bloody gape in it, because he’d really like to kiss him without it hurting. “Fordham got me in the ribs, but. Not so bad now.” Kurt sighs, and it’s a sad little sound that makes Puck want to break something. Kurt shouldn’t sound so sad, ever. “I’ll be okay, blue eyes.”

“You can’t even look at me with both eyes, Puck,” Kurt counters softly. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Puck groans and uses the bench and the lockers to pull himself up, Kurt tucking himself under his arm. “M’good.”

“Where’s your stuff?”

“Over there.” Puck starts to tilt his head towards it, but stops and hisses with the movement.

“Can Finn get it?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Kurt leads them towards the door, and exchanges some quick words with Finn that Puck doesn’t even bother trying to follow. He does sort of gather that Finn’s getting his stuff and then Finn’s walking with them towards Kurt’s car. It’s easier not to think, with the way his head is throbbing.

There’s another conversation that Puck doesn’t follow once they reach the car, and Finn trots off as he climbs in, slumping against the window as soon as the door closes. Kurt climbs in and reaches around him, fastening the seat belt.

“Oh, baby,” Kurt says softly, kissing his forehead. “Let’s go get you checked out, all right?”

Puck nods. “Okay.” He sort of wants to argue, but the doctor might give him something to make his head stop throbbing. Kurt starts the car and Puck lets his good eye close.

 

Finn’s phone rings and it’s the tone Rachel set up for herself in Finn’s phone. “Hey, Rach,” he says, trying not to let the strain of what just happened with Puck show in his voice.

“Finn?” Rachel sounds puzzled. “I was just going to leave you a voicemail... is everything all right? Did practice get cancelled?”

Finn sighs. She’s going to find out, because she’s Rachel, and she’ll bother Puck to death until she finds out. Finn may as well tell her and get control of the story. “I’m ok, but Puck, not so much. He got jumped by some guys in the locker room when he put his foot down about some of the language they were using.”

“Language?” Rachel almost laughs. “Puck isn’t one to moderate his own language. Is he going to be okay?”

“Not language like cussing, Rachel,” Finn explains. “And I dunno. Kurt’s taking him to the walk-in clinic, so we’ll know more later.”

“Why is Kurt taking him? Oh, the rest of you were still supposed to practice? What kind of language, then? Is Puck in trouble?”

“Ugly language. Like, gay bashing language,” Finn says, angrily. “We’ve been having trouble with this group of guys talking shit. They were ragging on Kurt earlier in the year and they started up about something today. And no, I don’t think Puck’s in any trouble.”

Finn can practically hear Rachel deflate. “Oh,” she says, her voice suddenly quiet. “Are–are you still at school?”

“Yeah, I’m coming in from the parking lot. I helped Kurt get Puck into the Nav.”

“I’m still in the choir room. If–if you want to come over here, or I could meet you–”

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be good. I’ll come to you.”

“Okay. Okay,” she repeats, a little stronger. “I’ll be here.”

Finn hits end and heads straight to the choir room. He’s surprised by how shaken he still feels, because in the moment he was dealing with the sophomores, he was running on pure adrenaline. Now that he’s had time to cool off, he’s shaky and his mind is racing. Seeing Rachel seems like a very normal thing to do, and normalcy would be nice right about now.

Finn’s walking into the choir room and isn’t all the way through the door before Rachel is right there, taking him by the arm and steering him to a chair. “Oh, Finn,” she says, a bit mournfully, draping his arm around her shoulder as she sits beside him. “Do you want to talk about it? Are _you_ okay?”

“I’m a little shaky,” Finn confesses. “I’m not hurt or anything. I pulled that dude off Puck too fast for him to get a swing at me.”

“Pulled him off...” Rachel repeats faintly. “I didn’t know there was still such trouble on the team. Since Karofsky’s been coming to PFLAG, and you and the other Glocks. I just don’t understand, Finn! Coach Beiste doesn’t seem like she’d put up with that.”

“She wouldn’t. She’s dealing with it now,” Finn says, coming immediately to Coach’s defense. “It’s just these sophomores. Same three kids, two of ‘em worse than the other. And I guess I didn’t technically pull Johannson off of Puck so much as batted him off with my backpack.”

“Finn!” Rachel sounds appalled but also a little bit pleased. “And _Puck_ was trying to make them stop?”

“Yeah. Puck was reminding them that the Glocks made it clear we wouldn’t put up with that when Johannson and Fordham jumped him. They’re pretty big dudes, so I’m glad I came in when I did.”

“Poor Puck,” Rachel says, still a bit of disbelief in her voice. “I suppose he was just unlucky enough to be the one in there. You know, I could ask my dads to make some telephone calls.”

“No ACLU, Rach,” Finn sighs. “And Puck’s a good guy, you know? He’s got glee’s back.”

“No, I know,” Rachel says quickly, “he does. It’s just a little surprising. You have to admit that.”

Finn looks confused. “They were talking about _Kurt_ , Rachel. Of course he wasn’t going to let them do that.”

Rachel narrows her eyes a little. “Well, of course they do seem to be much better friends than they once were.” Then she frowns. “Wait, what kind of things were they saying?”

“I don’t know the details about this time,” Finn says. “Last time it was about his clothes and just lots of ugly words for gay people.”

“That’s... it’s not right, Finn!” Her frown deepens into a scowl. “Clearly, PFLAG is not yet having enough of an impact.”

“No, it’s not right,” Finn mutters, his voice harsh. “And I wish I’d been in there when they were saying it so it wasn’t three on one like that.”

“You’re a good man, Finn Hudson.” She smiles, though there’s still a tinge of sadness behind it.

“If I were that good, I’d have gotten there faster.”

“When did it happen?”

“Before the bell rang,” Finn confesses. “Still, I _should_ have been there. Kurt’s my brother and Puck’s my best friend. He looked...God, Rachel, he looked awful.”

“Awful how? You said Kurt was taking him to the immediate care place, right? So he didn’t need an ambulance or anything, did he?”

“He could walk...mostly. His face is all messed up and he took at least one shot to the ribs,” Finn grimaces.

Rachel gasps. “Oh, no! But he used to be in fight club and–”

Finn makes a face. “Rachel, that fight club stuff was mostly chest-thumping. This was a bash--a beating.” He corrects himself quickly, hoping Rachel doesn’t notice that he almost used the word he actually meant, rather than the one he should have said.

“But, still, Finn, how did they manage to get the upper hand?” Rachel sounds distressed, but doesn’t let on that she heard anything unusual in his statement.

“I don’t know, Rach,” Finn sighs. “There were three of them? Two of ‘em are linemen? Puck’s got more loyalty than sense?”

She manages a rueful smile at the last sentence. “Linemen are... the really large ones, right?” She nods, almost to herself. “Poor Puck. We should prepare a number for him later in the week.”

“Uh, I don’t know that he’ll really appreciate that as much as you think he will.”

Rachel pouts. “But it’s glee club! We express ourselves emotionally through song.”

“I think Puck’s already emotionally expressed himself with his face and rib cage,” Finn says. “Maybe we just leave him alone?”

“If you’re sure,” Rachel says doubtfully. “Don’t you think he’d want to know he has the support of all of us?”

“I think he knows already,” Finn reassures her. “I just think he’d be embarrassed to have us all point it out to him like that.”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed! He’s done an admirable thing. Perhaps not the best way to do it, admittedly, if he needs a doctor’s care afterwards. And it was very chivalrous of Kurt to step in, all things considered.”

“Uh...all _what_ things considered?” Finn asks, narrowing his eyes a little.

“Since he was inadvertently the source of the conflict, of course.”

“What?” Finn sputters. “Just...just... _What?_ ”

“You just _said_ that they were talking about Kurt.”

“So it’s somehow Kurt’s fault that some asshole sophomores are making nasty comments about him? Or Kurt’s fault that the rest of us don’t like hearing it?” Finn’s mad now, maybe even madder than Rachel’s statement actually calls for, he realizes. He doesn’t actually care if his anger level is inappropriate, however. “If they were talking bad about you or Artie or Tina, would you say they were the ‘source of the conflict’?”

“Well, no,” Rachel tries to backpedal frantically.

“Then I’d think you of all people wouldn’t try to pin somebody else’s bad behavior on Kurt,” Finn snaps.

“I just meant that it might make Kurt uncomfortable! That’s all!”

“What? To know that his _friends_ won’t let the kind of bullying that happened last year happen again this year?”

“Just that... you know... people are talking about him! Behind his back!”

“Kurt’s not stupid, Rachel,” Finn says. “He knows that. Now he knows that when it happens, someone’s gonna step up and look after him. It’s what you do when you care about someone.”

“I know he’s not stupid,” Rachel laments. “I just...” She shrugs. “I’d probably be uncomfortable in his place,” she says quietly.

“Well, he didn’t look uncomfortable. He just looked concerned about Puck,” Finn says, exasperated. “You’d have probably been concerned, too, if you’d seen him. I promise you, Kurt wasn’t thinking about himself at the moment.”

“All right,” Rachel accepts Finn’s words. “I just worry about everyone, Finn.”

“I know you do,” Finn sighs. “Just, I think you’re worrying about the wrong stuff, ok?” He pulls Rachel into a hug.

“What should we do?” she asks, voice muffled as she buries her face in Finn’s chest.

“Keep going to PFLAG meetings and hope that eventually everybody else in the world catches up to us,” Finn says.

“It seems like it takes such a long time.”

“Boys are stupid. That’s what Kurt says, anyway,” Finn adds, with a little smile. “Probably ‘boys’ could be changed to ‘everybody,’ though.”

Rachel giggles. “Yes, I’ve heard that particular saying of Kurt’s before. You’re probably right.”

“‘Course I’m right,” Finn laughs, and leans over--way over--to kiss her.

 

“I’m just going to go over to the Express Care at St. Rita’s, okay?” Kurt says. “They should be able to bill your insurance later.”

Puck resists the impulse to tell Kurt not to worry about it, because he’s pretty sure this is Kurt’s way of dealing with it, rambling about insurance and where they are going and how to pay for it. The drive doesn’t take long at all and before Puck knows it, Kurt’s tucked himself back under Puck’s arm, steering them towards the Express Care window. Puck vaguely registers that Kurt’s gone through the valet parking offered, which amuses him for a reason he cannot quite place.

Probably because of his fucking headache.

Kurt guides him to a chair, then walks away, and Puck tries to listen to what Kurt’s saying. Something about “beaten” and “school” and “no, over eighteen” and a few minutes later Kurt’s back, writing on some form. Every once in awhile he stops and asks Puck a question, like what is Puck’s mom’s cell phone number, or does Puck have any drug allergies? Puck does the best he can to answer the questions, and then Kurt presses the pen into his hand and points to where he needs to sign. “Thanks, K.”

Kurt just smiles sadly and stands up to take the form back to the desk. When he sits back down, Puck reaches over and takes Kurt’s hand. Kurt raises an eyebrow and turns to him, and Puck would smile at the expression on Kurt’s face if he didn’t think it’d make Kurt glare.

Well, that, and it’d hurt.

Puck just shrugs and squeezes Kurt’s hand. Yeah, maybe it’s not the best plan if he doesn’t intend on coming out during the school year, but it’s not like a bunch of people from school are going to be at the Express Care place. Puck sort of doubts that there’s someone waiting to take note of whether or not the two guys from McKinley are holding hands or not.

As they wait, Kurt starts a running commentary about all the other people in the waiting room, whispered so only Puck can hear. First he details what, precisely, is wrong with all of the fashion choices the other people waiting have made, and then moves on to a rant about the scrubs that the medical personnel are wearing. He’s about to start in on the decorating when one of the unfortunately-dressed scrub-wearing nurses opens the waiting room door yet again. “Noah Puckerman?”

They both jump a little, and Puck knows that the commentary was as much to keep Kurt calm as it was to keep him distracted. They stand and walk to the door, Puck still holding tightly to Kurt’s hand. “Right here,” he nods, and the nurse beckons for them to follow her.

They spend awhile checking Puck’s temperature and blood pressure and stuff like that, which seems stupid to Puck, but they’re the ones that went to medical school or wherever nurses go to school. After all of that, the nurse walks out of the exam room and tells them the doctor will be in shortly.

“Shortly” turns out to mean “more than ten minutes,” and Puck lies down on the exam table.

“You probably shouldn’t go to sleep,” Kurt frets. “What if you’ve got a concussion?”

“M’not going to sleep, blue eyes. Promise. Just resting.”

“The decor in here is frightful.”

“You tell ‘em, Kurt.”

“I think I will.”

The doctor finally enters the room, her heels clicking sharply on the floor and making Puck wince. “So, got in a fight at school?” she asks brusquely. “Bit off more than you could chew, looks like.”

Puck looks over at Kurt questioningly, but Kurt just shrugs and makes a confused face, too. “I got jumped, three to one,” Puck points out.

“Hmm.” She makes a disapproving noise and comes towards him with the pointy-light thing. “Open your eye for me.”

“I can’t.”

“Stop being a wimp and open your eyes.”

Puck tries but frowns at her. “Look, I can’t, okay, I–OW!”

“What the hell are you doing to him?”

The doctor is holding his eye open with her fingers, peering into it using her light, and Kurt looks like he’s about to pummel her. Before either of them can say anything else, though, she releases his eyelids and he turns away from her. “Hmm. No permanent damage to the eye. You look like you’re going to be sore for a few days, though.”

She runs through a list of symptoms, checking for a concussion, and declares that he does not, in fact, have a concussion.

“What about his ribs?”

“What about them?”

“Took a punch to the ribs, too,” Puck explains, lifting up his shirt.

The doctor hums again, pressing and prodding at the bruise that’s smaller than Puck expects. “I think it’s fine.”

Kurt purses his lips but doesn’t say a word, clearly not impressed with the doctor.

“The nurse will come in to clean up your lip. Here’s a prescription for some painkillers. Take tomorrow off school. You play sports?”

“Football.”

“Not for a week, you don’t.” The doctor pulls out another piece of paper and writes on it quickly before signing it. She hands it as well as the prescription to Kurt, and leaves the room without another word.

“Wow.”

“Bedside manner, huh?”

Kurt snorts back a laugh as the nurse re-enters the room and does, in fact, clean off his lip. It’s moderately painful and if Puck’s gonna be honest, he’s most pissed about the fact that he’s not even gonna be able to kiss Kurt without being reminded off the douchebags, at least not for a few days.

Still, some things are worth a little pain and he pulls Kurt to him as the nurse leaves. “Kiss me.”

“Are you sure?” Kurt nibbles on his bottom lip.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Kurt leans forward and kisses him very softly, putting more pressure on the side of his mouth that doesn’t have an open wound. Puck carefully returns the kiss, experimenting a little to see what feels good and what feels awful, before pulling back. “Let’s get you home.”

“’kay,” Puck agrees, and they leave the Express Care to walk directly across the lobby towards Starbucks. “Kurt?”

“You should check in with your manager, if she’s here. See if you can still work like that.”

“Fuck,” Puck shakes his head and then stops, grimacing. “Didn’t think of that.”

“Oh, goodness, what happened to you?”

“He got jumped,” Kurt explains. “He’s not supposed to go to school tomorr–”

“I’m going,” Puck interrupts. “It’s just one eye.”

Puck’s pretty sure Kurt rolls his eyes, but since Kurt’s standing on the same side as the eye that’s swollen shut, he’s not too sure. “–so I thought he should see if he should still work tomorrow.” Kurt finishes as if Puck hadn’t spoken. _Bossy_ , Puck thinks, and he grins a little.

“I’ll leave it up to you, Noah,” his manager finally says. “You take care of him,” she addresses Kurt, who just nods and gives her a look that Puck’s pretty sure means either ‘duh’ or ‘of course,’ and Puck remembers her comment a week or so ago about “his boy.”

“I don’t think you two have actually met,” Puck interjects. “Ms. Horatio, this is Kurt. Kurt, Ms. Horatio.

“It’s a pleasure,” Kurt says smoothly, and his manager echoes the sentiment. She turns to Puck then and gives him an appraising smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Puck says firmly.

Kurt snorts beside him but only mutters “Stubborn.”

“Pot, kettle,” Puck retorts, and then they both laugh for a moment before waving and leaving the store.

“Let’s go get your painkillers,” Kurt says with a sigh, and when they get to Rite Aid, Puck stays in the Navigator, eyes closed, while Kurt runs inside. “Okay,” Kurt says upon his return. “Time for you to go home.”

“What time is it?”

“Just after five.”

“I should call Mom.”

“Already did.”

“What?”

“While I was waiting on them to fill your prescription.”

“How’d you know her number?” Puck’s having trouble keeping up with the conversation.

“Swiped your phone when we first got in the car. You were already getting texts from half the football team. Turned it to silent.”

Puck grins in spite of himself. “You’re something, blue eyes.”

“Something good, I hope?” Kurt hands him two pills and a bottle of water. “Here, take these.”

“Definitely something good,” Puck agrees. He takes the pills and a long drink of water. “I fucking adore you, you know that, right?”

“I do know that,” Kurt agrees softly. “It’s entirely mutual.” He squeezes Puck’s hand for a moment before starting the engine and driving towards Puck’s apartment.

“I suddenly wish we were on the first floor,” Puck groans when they pull up.

“Isn’t there an elevator?”

“Yeah, one of those freight elevators. It’s really slow, mostly for people moving in or out.”

“Still,” Kurt points out, and Puck shrugs, allowing himself to be led to it.

Puck just lets Kurt take over once they get inside the apartment, and before Puck can really process all of it, he’s in bed, wearing just his underwear, a glass of water next to him and an ice pack on his eye. “Try to get some rest, baby. I’m going to go get some dinner from Joey’s for all of us, okay?”

“Kay.”

“Your mom and Hannah should be here soon. I’ll be right back.” Kurt leans over Puck and kisses his forehead softly before kissing the uninjured half of his lips. “Be good.”

“K, ’M always good.”

Puck registers the sound of the door closing, and then lets himself sleep.

 

Kurt hurries down the stairs, intent on going not just to Joey’s. He drives the short distance back to the high school and walks quickly through the halls, the paper from the doctor about football in his hands. If he knows Puck–and he _does_ –Puck will conveniently forget to take the paper with him to school, and will start playing before he’s supposed to. Kurt’s going to make sure that does not happen.

He tries Coach’s office first, but finding it empty, though not locked, he heads towards the teacher’s lounge. “Coach Beiste? Oh, sorry, hello, Mr. Schuester.”

They look up from their conversation, and Schue just looks confused, whereas Coach nods. “Give us a second, Will?”

“Sure, sure,” Schue nods, standing. “Everything all right, Kurt?”

Kurt just raises his eyebrows and sighs, and Coach pipes up. “I’ll explain it in a bit, Will.”

After he leaves, Coach shuts the door. “You take Puckerman to the immediate care place?”

“Mmmhmm.” Kurt hands her the letter. “The doctor said he shouldn’t play for a week. I had a feeling he’d forget to bring this tomorrow.”

Beiste takes the letter with an appraising look, reading it over and nodding.

“What’s going to happen to them?” Beiste raises an eyebrow. “I’d like to give him some good news.”

“Rickenbacker is suspended for three weeks. The other two are off the team for the season.” She points to a pile of red and white jackets in the corner. “Figgins will deal with any further punishment tomorrow.”

“All right,” Kurt nods, jaw still clenched tightly.

“You–” Beiste starts, then shakes her head. “None of my business.”

Kurt raises both eyebrows and slowly moves his head from one side to the other. “I’ve got to get back. Thank you, Coach.”

“No, thank you. Tell Puckerman he’s welcome to sit on the bench with us Friday night, but otherwise I don’t want to see him until next Tuesday.”

Kurt smiles. “Absolutely.”

 

Schue brushes past him on his way out the door, and Kurt can hear him start to interrogate Coach Beiste. “Shannon? What’s going on? I heard a couple of rumors earlier in the hall, but....”

Kurt shakes his head and continues back outside, headed back to Joey’s, which fills the order quickly, and he goes back upstairs to find Rina and Hannah already home. “Hey, girls.”

“Kurt. Noah’s asleep.”

“We should get him up to eat.” Kurt sets the bags on the table.

 

“’M up,” Puck mumbles from the doorway. “Joey’s?”

“Yes,” Kurt smiles, and Puck can’t help returning it. “Cheese Coney and Atomic dogs for you. Hannah, meatball sub. Rina, tuna salad.” Puck blinks. _That_ was new. Must’ve been a hell of a conversation Kurt had with his mom while he was in Rite Aid.

Puck sits down heavily. “What’d you get?”

“Reuben and a Texas dog.”

“Mmm.” The food stings a little when it brushes against his lips, but Puck does his best to ignore it, and shuffles back to his room as soon as he’s done, losing his jeans again and crawling back in bed. Kurt follows him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You have anything due tomorrow.”

“Just some of those stupid worksheets for English.”

“Okay.” Kurt hands him the water from his bedside table. “I’ll take care of it.”

Puck nearly spits out the mouthful of water. “Uhh.”

“Yes, I meant what it sounds like,” Kurt just raises his eyebrow. “And you should try to go ahead and sleep, especially since you’re insisting on working tomorrow.” He bends down and kisses Puck softly, making Puck smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, baby.” He stands and heads for Puck’s backpack.

“Be good.”

“I’m always good.”

Puck lets his eyes close, the painkillers doing their job, as Kurt walks from the room, carrying Puck’s backpack.

 

Kurt parks the Navigator, utterly exhausted, and climbs out without even picking up his bag. He knows he’s not going to be getting any work done that night, so what’s the point in taking it inside? He walks quietly through the garage and up the stairs, his father and Carole miraculously either not hearing him over the sound of the television or somehow sensing that he’s not able to talk to them just yet.

He heads up the stairs and walks straight for Finn’s room, pushing the door open without even knocking. Finn is sitting on his bed with textbooks and notebooks randomly strewn around him. When Kurt comes in, Finn looks up and says, “Kurt, dude, how’s Puck?”

Kurt just keeps walking straight towards the bed and falls down on it. “Asleep, now.”

“Did you convince him to let you take him to the clinic?” Finn pushes his books out of the way and most of them fall onto the floor in a series of muffled thuds.

Kurt nods. “We went. The doctor was an asshole. Nothing’s cracked or broken or concussed but he got some nice painkillers at least.”

“How are _you_ doing?” Finn asks, softly. “And don’t bother bullshitting, ‘cause you know I’m smarter than I look.”

“So fucking tired of this town,” Kurt mumbles into Finn’s bedcovers. “It’s a good thing Dad keeps his gun at the shop and locked up.”

“Yeah,” Finn agrees. “Good damn thing.”

“He wouldn’t tell me what they said. Said it was bad enough he had to hear it once.”

“Yeah, I have no clue, man,” Finn says. “I didn’t catch that part, just the...other part.”

“I want to fucking kill them.”

“Kurt, I will gladly hold them while you beat them to death.”

Kurt’s answering grin is more feral than any expression anyone’s probably seen on his face before. “They’re off the team. At least two of them are.”

“I’m pretty sure Johannson wouldn’t be finishing the season anyway.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Finn says, grinning savagely. “It’s terrible how he totally bent his knee backwards like that. Guess I threw him off Puck a little too hard.”

Kurt’s answering expression is equally savage and also pleased. “Good.”

“Fordham’s lucky that Rickenbacker already had him,” Finn adds. “Because I might have stomped--er, accidentally thrown him off of Puck a little too hard, too.”

Kurt’s never thought that he could giggle wickedly before, but that’s exactly what he does. “Damn Rickenbacker.”

“How bad does Puck look?” Finn asks. “He going to school tomorrow?”

Kurt snorts. “The doctor said he should take a day, so naturally, he’s going. His eye is bruised up bad and swollen pretty much shut. The split in his lip looks better now that it’s not bleeding. Luckily his ribs didn’t bruise much, apparently Fordham’s not quite as strong as he looks.”

“Fordham’s definitely as _stupid_ as he looks,” Finn grumbles, “but I’m glad Puck’s not in as bad a shape as he looked. ‘Cause he looked pretty bad.”

“Oh, his face is...” Kurt shrugs a little. “But it’ll heal.” His breath catches a little on the last words.

Finn puts a hand on Kurt’s shoulder and leaves it there, but doesn’t say anything.

“I just hate this stupid fucking town,” Kurt says in a jumble. “I want to literally kill someone. Literally. And I don’t... god, Finn, what do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Finn sighs. “I wish I had some kind of answer, but hell, you’re the smart one.”

Kurt sniffles a little and swallows. “There’s no way to sing some things better.”

“No,” Finn says, heavily. “Not some things.”

Kurt sighs and closes his eyes. “Did you say anything to our parents?”

“Told ‘em there was a scuffle in the locker room and Puck took the worst of it, but didn’t say over what,” Finn says. “I did make sure they knew he didn’t start it.”

Kurt nods a little. “Gonna be rumors,” he mumbles, all of the afternoon and evening’s adrenaline finally starting to drain away.

“Yeah, and we’ll crush ‘em like a sophomore’s knee,” Finn says.

“Heh.” Kurt’s lips twitch up a little. “Can’t solve e’thing with your foot.”

“Bullshit,” Finn says. “I can solve everything with my foot.”

“Cept history,” Kurt argues, clearly getting very sleepy. “Other feet.”

“Mmhmm. Whatever you say, dude.”

“Lots and lots of feet.” Kurt’s voice gets softer, and after a moment, his breathing indicates he’s fallen asleep.

“Kurt,” Finn whispers. “Kurt. Are you asleep? Dude?” Finn sighs and shakes his head, then picks his books up off the floor and continues his reading.

 

Puck wakes up at 4:30 the next morning, undoubtedly a product of falling asleep so early. He shoves his prescription into his pocket but only takes some Advil. He spends the extra thirty minutes messing with his various playlists and reading Facebook before leaving a little early for work. He tries not to look at his face in the mirror, though he’s sure it’s pretty bad.

The early morning regulars all want to know what happened to him, which he tries to reduce to a simple “locker room disagreement” in which he took the high road and did not escalate to physical violence. Eventually he gives up on that and just says he got jumped by a couple of other guys. His manager laughs at the tips he’s getting and empties it into his pocket around 7. “Keep it,” she insists. “Not something you want to do every day.”

Puck is pleasantly surprised when Kurt pushes the door open at 7:15. “You’re early.”

Kurt winces as he looks at Puck’s face. “I know. I woke up early. Probably because I fell asleep mid-sentence after I got home.”

Puck manages a grin. “Yeah?”

“I vaguely recall something about feet,” Kurt admits. “How do you feel this morning?”

“I’ve been better,” Puck admits. “Today’ll be the worst, though.” He hands Kurt his coffee and a breakfast sandwich. Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Eat, blue eyes. I know you couldn’t be here this early and have eaten at home.” Kurt just shakes his head but doesn’t argue. “Nice outfit, by the way,” Puck grins, looking Kurt up and down with his one open eye.

Kurt just smiles smugly and turns away. “Thought you might appreciate it,” he says softly as he walks over to a table and sits down.

“Oh, I do,” Puck mutters under his breath as he goes to take the next person’s order.

When the clock hits 7:45, his manager tells him to go ahead and change, and Puck finds himself ensconced in the bathroom with Kurt just moments later. “I thought you might need help,” Kurt shrugs in response to Puck’s unasked question. “And even if you don’t, well.” Kurt steps closer to Puck and carefully rests his hand on the left side of Puck’s face, tilting it towards him as he leans his head forward and kisses Puck gently.

Puck embraces Kurt and after Kurt breaks their kiss, Puck lets his head fall onto Kurt’s shoulder and just stands there for a moment. Kurt’s arms wrap around him, returning the hug, and Puck can hear Kurt whispering in his ear, indistinguishable but soothing. Puck loses track of time as he stands there, Kurt pressed against him, his face buried in Kurt’s neck, breathing in Kurt’s scent. Finally, Kurt pulls away reluctantly. “C’mon, let’s get you changed,” he says softly, and Puck swaps out his clothes with Kurt’s assistance.

The store is more or less deserted at eight most mornings, because shift change is at seven in the hospital, and since this morning is no exception, Puck pulls Kurt close as they walk out the door. His manager smiles at him with no surprise in her face, and Puck shakes his head a little. If the rest of the school weren’t made up of self-absorbed teenagers, there’s no way he and Kurt would be able to keep anything a secret.

By some miracle, no one stops him on his way to his locker, and he’s reaching into it when Santana walks up on his left. “So, I heard there was some kind of fight in the locker room yesterday. You know anything about that, Puckerman?”

Puck snorts and then turns to look at her. “And why would I know anything about that?”

“Oh, shit,” she gasps. “What the hell happened?”

“Three against one happened,” Puck retorts as he closes his locker. “I would be the ‘one’ in that scenario, by the way. Went into it pissed off, didn’t expect them to actually take a swing.”

“Damn.” Santana winces. “Who was it?”

“Johannson, Fordham, and Rickenbacker. Stupid sophomores.”

“Isn’t it always,” she shakes her head and then stalks off down the hall.

Brittany is already in history when Puck arrives. “Ooh, Puck, your face!”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs. “It looks bad, huh?”

“It does,” she agrees. “You okay?”

“I’ll be all right,” he assures her. At that point, Finn comes into the classroom, takes one look at Puck and blanches.

“Holy shit!” Finn says.

“Good morning to you too,” Puck says dryly.

“Sorry, but holy shit,” Finn repeats. “I didn’t realize how bad it would look. Kurt didn’t--” he stops himself and shakes his head. “I just didn’t realize. I suddenly feel even better about that knee than I did before.”

“Knee?” Puck vaguely remembers something about Finn stomping on something. Maybe that’s what Kurt meant about feet.

“Not important right now. How you feeling?”

“Oh, I’ve been better. In so many ways.”

Finn sits down next to Puck and leans over, saying quietly, “Looking at you, I have no idea how Kurt’s holding up so good. I’d be a damn mess.”

“Cause you can’t,” Puck shakes his head. “Chink in the armor, man.”

“I want to light someone on fire, dude. Just light them the hell on fire.”

“I support that fully.” Before Puck can say anything further, there’s a bit of a commotion at the front of the room, and he looks up to see Coach Beiste standing there with Sam.

“I need to borrow Hudson and Puckerman, too,” she’s saying to their teacher. “Meeting with Figgins.”

“Oh, great,” Puck whispers to Finn.

“Here we go,” Finn responds. “Hope we’re all reading the same script.”

“I’ll just follow your lead once you guys got there,” Puck admits. “It’s a little hazy for awhile, anyway.”

“Yeah, well I hope Johannson follows my lead, too,” Finn mutters fiercely. “Dickhead’s still got another knee.”

They join Beiste and Sam at the front of the room, Beiste still talking to their history teacher about assignments and passes. “Ouch,” Sam mutters. “That’s gotta hurt, dude.”

“Johannson ain’t small,” Puck acknowledges, and then Beiste is escorting them down the hall.

“We’re meeting with Principal Figgins so he can decide if further punishment is necessary. Johannson and Fordham are off the team for the year, Rickenbacker for three weeks.” Puck nods; Kurt told him that, though now Puck wonders how Kurt knew.

“Oh, Coach, I have a note somewhere,” he frowns, thinking, “doctor said I shouldn’t play for a week.”

Beiste just grins for a second. “Already taken care of, Puckerman.” She pats him on the shoulder as they arrive at Figgins’ office, Mike approaching from the other direction and the three sophomores already seated with Figgins.

Puck raises his eyebrow fractionally. How did...? Then he shakes his head and quirks his lips up a bit. _Little sneak_.

Finn draws his brows up into a look of confusion and tilts his head a little at Puck. Puck bites back a snort of laughter.

They all take seats in Figgins’ office, and he clears his throat, as uncomfortable as always. Puck thinks that really looking at him versus the sophomores ought to tell the story, but leave it to Figgins to find a way to screw him over. “Well. Coach Beiste requested I determine if further punishment was necessary. Mr. Puckerman, would you please explain what happened?”

Puck nods. “I get back from dual enrollment classes before the bell rings, so I went on to the locker room to get changed. I heard those three come in–”

“Did you know it was them?”

“Yeah, Rickenbacker’s voice is kind of distinctive, and he called Johannson by name. Fordham’s always with them. Plus, they were throwing the f-word around, and no one else does that in the locker room anymore.”

“The f-word?”

Puck tightens his jaw, as much as he can before his face starts to twinge, anyway, and stares at the front of Figgins’ desk. He can do a lot of things, but there are some words he doesn’t want to hear his own voice saying. Ever again.

Finn jumps in. “If you don’t mind me filling in some back story, sir?”

Figgins sounds surprised but answers in the affirmative. “Of course, Mr. Hudson.”

“Earlier in the year, Johannson, Fordham, and Rickenbacker were using hate speech in the locker room--lots of inappropriate homophobic language--and we glee club seniors told them that wasn’t going to be acceptable talk in the locker room,” Finn explains. His face is the very picture of sincerity and his voice is steady and calm. “We know that’s the sort of behavior the administration doesn’t tolerate anymore, sir, and we wanted the whole team to be on the same page.”

“Of course, of course,” Figgins is practically beaming at Finn. “I understand. Go on, Mr. Puckerman.”

“I didn’t say anything at first; they couldn’t see me from where they were. But they kept going, complaining about some of the It Gets Better videos, and then...” Puck exhales loudly. “Then they started talking about Kurt.”

“That’s a problem we had with them previously,” Finn interjects. “In fact, that’s one reason why I was so concerned with what they were saying. It wasn’t just general; it was specific and I was worried it might escalate into a situation like we had last year.”

Figgins looks concerned, now, and definitely worried, as he nods. “Yes, yes. That is a concern, of course.”

“So I told them to shut up,” Puck continues, refusing to even start to mention what they were saying. “And they kept going. It got worse. I threatened to get Coach–” He looks over at Beiste, who just nods encouragingly at him.

“What do you mean it got worse?” Figgins looks confused.

“I’m not saying it. It’s bad enough I had to hear it the first time,” Puck spits out.

“It’s ok, man,” Finn says, gently clapping a hand to Puck’s shoulder. He levels his intense gaze on Figgins. “I’m sure Principal Figgins doesn’t expect you to repeat it word for word.”

Puck just nods a little and takes a breath. “So, they said more sh–sorry, stuff–and,” Puck looks up at a spot on the wall, able to hear all too well what they said. “And then Johannson took a swing at me.” He points to his eye. “Wasn’t expecting it. I did try to hit back, I admit, but I think I barely glanced off Fordham’s shoulder.” He sighs and points to his lip and then pulls up his t-shirt and points to the bruise along his ribcage.

“Then I heard the door open and I remember thinking I was hoping it was one of these guys,” he gestures to Finn, Sam, and Mike, “and not more of the linemen.”

Beiste breaks in. “They hit you for all of those?”

Puck shakes his head. “Fist, kick, fist and kick,” he says, pointing to each spot.

Finn makes a sharp exhalation of breath. “And I guess this is where I come,” he says. “Want me to finish, Puck?”

“Please.”

“I came into the locker room and Puck was lying there on the ground with Johannson pummeling him. At that point, Rickenbacker was trying to grab hold of Fordham and pull him back,” Finn starts explaining. “Fordham’s a lot bigger, obviously, but he was doing a decent job of holding him off. I swung my backpack at Johannson and knocked him off of Puck. That’s when Johannson fell into the lockers--he was off balance I guess and he hit pretty hard--and that was the end of the fight.”

Sam nods. “Yeah, Mike and I were a few steps behind Finn, so we couldn’t see exactly what Johannson was doing, just that he was looming over Puck. It was pretty messed up. I went to go get Coach then.”

Figgins nods slowly. “All right.” He turns to the three sophomores. “Boys? Would you like to explain your side of the story? Perhaps your words at least were misinterpreted?”

Rickenbacker is the first to speak. He doesn’t look at Johannson or Fordham, just says, “No, sir. It’s pretty much exactly like Hudson told it. I did try to get them to shut up with everything, but once they get going...” he trails off, fidgeting nervously.

Puck dips his head in concession. “Rickenbacker didn’t hit me or anything. He tried to get the other two to shut up. But he didn’t exactly help me out, either.”

Figgins looks at Rickenbacker appraisingly, then turns his gaze expectantly to the other two.

Johannson and Fordham exchange looks. “Look, we were provoked,” Johannson sputters. “Puckerman was all up in our faces over a little bit of locker room talk. It really wasn’t a big deal until he made it one.”

“And I don’t see why we suddenly have to be so PC just because Hudson’s got a homo brother, anyway,” Fordham sneers. “It’s not like we were talking _to_ the kid. This is America and we got free speech.”

“This is a school and you’re minors,” Coach Beiste snaps at him. “Your right to free speech does not extend to hate speech in my locker room.”

Puck’s hands are clenched back into fists. “A little bit of locker room talk?” he repeats incredulously. “Yeah, why don’t you tell Finn what you said about his brother?”

“You mean his _sister_?” Fordham snorts. “I got nothing to hide. It’s not like I said I was gonna do anything to the little qu--kid.”

Finn’s hand tightens on Puck’s shoulder. It keeps him from jumping out of his seat, but before he can respond verbally, he feels the bile rise up and he grabs Figgins’ trash can and loses his breakfast. Everyone but Finn stares at Puck. Finn just pats him on the shoulder.

Puck looks up after a moment, not really meeting anyone’s eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I puke when I’m stressed.”

“Head trauma!” Finn blurts out. “Uh, head trauma can make you puke. One time I got a concussion when I was 11 and I kept ralphing all over the backseat of my mom’s car on the way to the hospital.”

Everyone seems to accept this explanation, or at least they all nod, Beiste looking especially sympathetic. “Rickenbacker, take that down to the janitor’s closet,” she orders. “Then come straight back here.”

Rickenbacker doesn’t argue, just takes the can and heads out of the room. Fordham and Johannson are looking at each other again. They sit in silence until Rickenbacker gets back to Figgins’s office.

“Well, boys,” Figgins puts his hands together. “I understand Coach Beiste has already dealt with your punishment as far as the football team is concerned.”

“Yeah, she kicked us off the damn team,” Fordham complains. “We weren’t even the one who started it!”

Puck just stares at him incredulously. “Seriously? You didn’t start it?”

“It was just talk,” Fordham insists. “You made it into a _thing_!”

“Talk _is_ a thing!”

“Talk like that isn’t acceptable,” Finn says crisply, almost formally, jabbing a finger in Fordham’s direction. “We explained that to you already.”

The bell rings, signalling the end of first period, and Beiste gestures for Sam and Mike to go on to class. “Hudson’s right,” she says then. “If I’d known about it, I would’ve talked to the whole team.” She looks at Finn and Puck. “I understand you didn’t think you needed to get me involved, but I do wish I’d known.”

“Yes, yes,” Figgins nods, impatiently. “What remains to be decided is your further punishment, boys.”

“Isn’t getting kicked off the team enough?” Johannson whines.

“The football team roster is at Coach Beiste’s discretion. Technically, it’s not a disciplinary matter. I make disciplinary decisions.” He stares at the three of them for a moment.

“Sir,” Rickenbacker starts, tentatively, “I really want to be able to get into a good college some day. I mean, I like football, but I know I’m not gonna do that forever. Is there anything I can do to avoid getting suspended? I really don’t want that on my record and, like Puckerman said, I didn’t hit anybody. I know, I know that I didn’t _do_ anything to stop it, but I didn’t hit him and I didn’t say...that stuff.”

“PFLAG?” Finn blurts. “Like with Karofsky.”

Beiste nods. “I think that’s a good idea, Hudson. Sir, I’d be comfortable with requiring Rickenbacker to attend PFLAG meetings the rest of the year. I’ll go to keep an eye on him–if you think that’d be all right,” she nods towards Puck and Finn.

Finn nods. “He needs to get educated,” he says, definitively.

Puck’s phone chimes suddenly, and he pulls it out, not really caring what Figgins thinks.

_Where are you? Are you okay??_

_I’m fine K. Figgins office. xx_

He looks up and raises his eyebrow slightly at Finn, who just nods, because he knows exactly who’s texting Puck. Luck or sympathy must be with Puck, because Figgins ignores him texting and tells Rickenbacker that he has to go to PFLAG meetings and serve detention every afternoon until he’s back on the team.

“Now, the two of you.” Figgins shakes his head at Johannson and Fordham. “You will be suspended for the remainder of this week. Starting right now.”

Johannson visibly pales and Fordham mutters “fuck” under his breath, but neither of them argues.

“Mr. Hudson, Mr. Puckerman, thank you for your time,” Figgins nods at them. “Coach, if you would please walk them to their second period class so they are not marked tardy?”

“Sure,” Beiste nods, and the three of them exit into the empty hallway.

“Puck, you ok man?” Finn says, lowering his voice enough to allow Coach to pretend she doesn’t hear them.

Puck just shrugs. “At least they didn’t get away with it.”

“Not this year,” Finn says. “Nobody is getting away with it this year.”

“No,” Puck agrees, shaking his head as they reach Finn’s English class. Puck leans against the wall while Beiste quickly talks to Finn’s English teacher, and then the two of them continue down the hall.

“Puckerman,” Beiste begins. “After those two get back in school, you let me know if they give either of you any trouble, okay?” She stares at him, not backing down until he nods his acquiescence. “Good,” she says, and smiles slightly. “I’ll see you Friday night, kid.” She opens the door to the physics classroom and Puck trails along behind her, heading for the back of the room and sitting down next to Kurt.

“What happened?” Kurt whispers, his hand reaching out underneath the table and clasping Puck’s.

“Figgins suspended Johannson and Fordham for the rest of the week, and Rickenbacker’s got detention plus mandatory PFLAG attendance.”

Kurt raises one eyebrow as the teacher resumes lecturing and Beiste leaves the room. “Really? I’m almost impressed despite myself.”

“I know,” Puck nods. “Beiste brought your brother and Sam and Mike in, too. I bet Figgins thought your dad was going to get involved somehow.”

Kurt stifles a laugh. “He probably would if he knew what happened.”

“He doesn’t?”

“Finn said he glossed over the details when he told Dad and Carole.”

“Oh.” Puck tries to follow the lecture for about thirty seconds before giving up. “I think Beiste knows.”

“She’s not stupid,” Kurt points out. “I did bring her that note from the doctor yesterday afternoon.”

“Little sneak,” Puck grumbles fondly. “I wondered where that thing was.”

“I didn’t want you trying to play too soon.” Kurt smiles innocently.

“Does it really look that bad?”

“Um.” Kurt bites at his lip. “It looks painful. Let’s put it that way.”

“Any rumors yet?”

Kurt shakes his head. “Not really. I heard a few about people getting kicked off the roster but nothing about why.” Kurt squeezes his hand and they spend the remaining minutes of class in silence, hands together and Kurt’s leg wrapped around Puck’s. They separate slowly as the bell rings, and Puck walks slowly towards English.

“Oh, Puck!” Rachel’s at his side as soon as he walks in the door. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” Puck replies, thinking it’s almost his stock answer for the day.

“I just wanted to say–Finn said it would make you embarrassed or something–but I think what you did was very _admirable_ and it’s very reassuring to know that there are people like you in this world.”

Puck blinks his good eye, a little confused. “Ah... thanks?”

“It’s only too bad that efforts such as PFLAG have not yet been more successful. Hopefully we will at least leave McKinley a better place than it was when we began.”

“Yeah,” Puck just nods as the teacher starts up the discussion. His eye starts to throb in the middle of the period, and his phone vibrates just moments later.

_Take your pills. The prescription ones._

Puck just stares at the phone for a moment and shakes his head. _How did you know_

_Magic rainbow power._

Puck presses his lips together to hold back a laugh, then grimaces as his lips stings a bit. He digs out his bottle, though, and takes one of the pills, wondering if he’s still going to get drowsy like it warns.

_Funny, blue eyes. Pill taken. xx_

_Good. xx_

He doesn’t feel particularly drowsy, per se, but by the time he gets to the choir room at the beginning of fourth period, he does think lying down sounds like a great idea. He does just that, absently noting a few others scattered around the room that are staring at his face but not saying anything.

Artie and Finn arrive together just a moment later, Artie clearly peppering Finn with questions about the day before. “So they just jumped him?”

“Yes, Artie. I already explained that part,” Finn says, with a sigh. He voice has a slightly sharp edge to it. “Those kids have some attitude issues and they pointed them at Puck. End of story.”

“I know Coach Beiste can react pretty strongly, but really? They’re off the team for the rest of the season?”

“Rickenbacker’s only out for three games, but yeah. Hell, I don’t even think it’s strong _enough_ ,” Finn responds, with a hint of snarl. “You haven’t seen him. It was messed up.”

“’M not messed up,” Puck protests from the floor. “And Rickenbacker screeeeched.”

“I’ve seen you,” Finn says. “Have _you_ seen you? ‘Cause, dude. Kinda messed up.”

“It’s all colorful.” Puck protests. “Colors are pretty.” Finn rolls his eyes.

“Puck, are you _high_?” Artie asks with a mix of concern and slightly scandalized awe as he rolls across the room towards Mike and Sam.

“The doctor gave me pills.” Puck nods, as if he’s confirming something about the doctor, maybe, or the pills. “They’re not pretty.”

“But they appear to be pretty awesome, anyway,” Finn mumbles, gently toeing Puck in the hip with his shoe. “You okay down there, brother?”

“Mmm-hmm. Where’s Kurt?”

“Uh. Not here.”

Puck pouts just a little, but then grins as he hears more people approaching the room. Kurt’s wearing boots that click, and he hears the distinctive sound of Kurt’s stride. “There.”

“What’s where?” Kurt’s voice breaks in just a moment later as he walks over to where Puck is lying down. He raises his eyebrows, amused. “Tired, Puck?”

“Hi, blue eyes.” Puck grins. “S’good pills.”

“Yes, I would imagine so,” Kurt says slowly as his eyes widen and he looks at Finn, maybe just a little panicked.

“Puck, you gonna stay down there the whole period?” Finn asks, an amused little smile on his face.

“You’re awesome, dude. You Munsters. You’re both awesome. But Kurt’s prettier, man.”

“Uh, thanks,” Finn mumbles, exchanging a glance with Kurt. “Maybe you oughta stop talking for a little while, man. Give your, um, face a rest or something.”

“Yes, you should rest,” Kurt nods almost frantically. “Definitely rest.”

“You should sleep with me,” Puck smiles. “Look at the pretty lights.” Puck pats the ground next to him, a small part of his brain arguing that he’s supposed to say something different, or not say something, or... he’s really not sure.

“Um.” Kurt’s eyes are really wide.

“Come sit with me. Sitttt.” Puck pouts again. “Your eyes are so wide.”

“Dude. Sit,” Finn whispers to Kurt. “Maybe it’ll shut him up.”

Kurt just shrugs helplessly and drops down to the floor beside Puck. “Okay, I’m sitting here.”

Puck smiles stupidly and closes his eyes. “Okay. I like that scarf. Did you wear it for me?” It’s a pretty scarf, all brown and matching the rest of Kurt’s outfit, which is all brown and layer-y, and Puck likes the idea that maybe Kurt was thinking about Puck when he got dressed that morning.

Finn leans over and speaks to Puck in a quiet voice. “Puck. Dude. Unless you feel like coming out _right now_ I think you should try to be, I dunno, _less high_ for a little bit or else maybe not talk.”

“Huh.” Puck thinks for awhile. “I like talking. Is everyone here? Hi everybody.” Maybe he should stop talking though, because he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to come out right then. Mostly sure. Though he would like to kiss Kurt.

“Yes, Puck, everyone is here,” Kurt says through a strained smile, “though thankfully on the other side of the room and not listening. Would you like... maybe you should go rest in the nurse’s office.”

“Kurt’s right,” Finn says. “Kurt’s _very_ smart, remember? I think we should take you to see the nurse. Or maybe you could lie down in the back of Kurt’s car or something?”

Puck grins. The back of Kurt’s car is _fun_. “I like the back of the Nav. You know what’s fun to do in the back of the Nav, Finn?”

“HOLY HELL! Puckerman, up!” Finn flushes bright red and tries to pull Puck to his feet. “You are out of here. Nurse. Now. Kurt?”

“Yes, yes,” Kurt jumps to his feet, his cheeks bright pink, pulling on Puck’s other side. “Let’s go, Puck.”

“Okay,” Puck whines. “You stay with me.” It’s not fair. He just wants Kurt.

“That’s probably a very good plan, Puck,” Finn agrees. “Kurt, you should stay with Puck, and, uh, keep him quiet and still. So he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Kurt nods as they leave the choir room. Most of the club heard only murmurs, excepting Finn’s exclamation, but he still doesn’t want to say too much. “Yes. Probably a good idea.”

“Okay,” Puck nods, satisfied, as they walk down the hall. “Mine.”

“Yes, baby,” Kurt whispers into his ear. “Yours. I’ll stay with you, okay?”

Puck leans towards Kurt, and it doesn’t take long to reach the nurse’s office. Puck lies down and Kurt sits beside him in a chair as Finn waves and heads back down the hall. Puck takes Kurt’s hand as the nurse pulls the curtain closed and goes back into the front room. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and Kurt just frowns, confused.

“Sorry? Why?”

“Cause I’m gonna fall asleep soon,” Puck admits, his eyes already drooping. “I’d rather be awake with you.”

“Shh.” Kurt smooths his hand over Puck’s head. “Rest’ll help you feel better. Okay?”

“Kay,” Puck mumbles, and he lets his eyes close completely.

 

When Puck wakes up, there’s a bag of food sitting in the chair where Kurt was, along with a note.

_Sorry I had to go, baby. I didn’t think I should miss the second day of class. Hamburger and fries in the bag, ask the nurse for your drink out of her refrigerator. I’ll come get you at 3:15._

_xx, K_

Puck smiles and folds the note back up, tucking it into his wallet before picking up his bag and the food and leaving the nurse’s office. She hands him his drink without a word and Puck nods his thanks before walking to the choir room.

He pulls out his phone and sends Kurt a quick text– _Up now. Thx. xx_ –then turns his attention to his food. He’s just finished eating and pulled out his music theory work when the door creaks open slightly. Puck doesn’t look up at first, because sometimes Brad or one of the jazz band guys wanders in during the afternoon. When footsteps approach the piano and stop, though, Puck looks up to see Mr. Schuester standing there.

“Hey, Puck.” Schue winces a little, which Puck is almost getting used to.

“Mr. S,” Puck nods and puts down his pencil. “Need something? I haven’t had a chance to do anything else with Invitationals...”

“No, no,” Schue cuts him off hurriedly. “I just–Shannon, Coach Beiste I mean, she said you got knocked around pretty badly. I thought I’d see how you were.”

Puck shrugs and gives his now-standard answer. “I’ve been better. Coach kicked two of them off the team and I don’t have to see their faces around here, even in mono, for a week, so I guess that’s all right.”

Mr. Schue chuckles a little at the ‘mono’ comment. “Coach Beiste mentioned that they were saying hateful things...about gay people, including Kurt. I was, well, surprised, I suppose, to hear that you would take such a stand over that issue, to the point of being on the receiving end of this sort of...assault.”

Puck just stares at him for a long moment. “Mr. Schue, I like you and all, but where the _hell_ have you been for the last two years?”

Schue kind of sputters and turns a little red. “I didn’t mean it as an insult, Puck. I just never realized you felt so passionately about, uh, hate speech. Not that that’s a bad thing to feel passionately about--”

“No, really,” Puck interrupts him. “Even the last year. Look, I–no, we get it. Okay? There’s a lot of things you aren’t comfortable with, but don’t project them onto us.”

Mr. Schue presses his lips together, clearly angry about the way the conversation is going. “Well, I just wanted to see how you were doing. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

Puck just nods, not wanting to waste his breath any further. “See you Thursday afternoon.”

Schue gives a cursory nod and then turns, walking out of the room. Puck shakes his head, scowling, and gets back to work, alternating between working and resting his head. When the final bell rings, he swings his backpack over his shoulder and heads out the door.

Finn’s kind of loitering in the hallway outside the choir room when Puck comes out. “Oh, hey,” he says, like he didn’t know exactly where Puck was during the previous class period. “So how ya feeling now?”

“Hey,” Puck nods. “Not so high.” He grins a little. “Dude, I don’t even remember half the stuff I was saying.”

“Uh, well, that’s probably better, then.” Finn runs his hand down the back of his head and rubs the back of his neck a little. He does the foot-to-foot shifting thing, too. Clearly uncomfortable and/or concerned.

“Oh?” Puck raises his eyebrow. “Why?”

“Dude, you almost outed yourself _and_ your relationship with Kurt.”

Puck frowns, trying to remember through the haze that covers that portion of time. “Ohh. Yeah.” He shrugs a little. “I didn’t know they’d do that.”

“Yeah, you were all, ‘oh Kurt is so pretty’ and ‘come lie on the floor with me,’” Finn laughs. “Good thing we staged a quick intervention or who knows what was gonna come out of your mouth next. You were starting to sing the praises of Kurt’s back seat when we cut you off.” Finn blushes a little at that sentence, but only a little.

Puck laughs. “At least I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” he smirks.

“This whole thing works best when I don’t know details, dude.”

Puck just keeps smirking for a minute before abruptly changing the subject. “So Schue stopped by this afternoon.”

“Oh?” Finn asks. He gives Puck a cautious look, like he’s not sure what the appropriate response might otherwise be.

“He’d heard about everything from Coach, I guess.” Puck frowns a little. “Don’t get me wrong, you know I like Schue most of the time, but seriously? Has he just been phoning it in for the last two years?”

“Uh, like how?”

“He was... how did he put it? Surprised that I would take a stand on the issue of hate speech. Yeah.” Puck’s tone is scornful at best.

Finn sighs. “Well, he doesn’t _know_ , you know? And it’s not like he’s ever paid too much attention to what’s going on in our lives outside of glee, but,” Finn pauses and makes a little face, a cross between a grimace and a slightly dismissive smile. “That’s just Schue, I guess? He thinks he knows us a lot better than he really does.”

‘Yeah,” Puck snorts derisively. “I know. And I remember... well.” He shakes his head, then winces a little with the motion. “It’s just... okay. What if Johannson and Fordham were out in the parking lot, tossing that Casey kid in? Would Schue just say, oh, hey, Casey’s making new friends and keep going? ‘Cause I think he would.”

“Possibly,” Finn says. “Probably. He doesn’t see it because he doesn’t want to see it, I guess. Or it’s not important to him whether he sees it or not.”

Puck nods. Either scenario is pretty bad. They reach the doors to the locker room and Puck turns to head outside. “Later, dude.”

“Yeah, I’ll see ya, man. Be careful with yourself today,” Finn cautions. “You don’t and Kurt’s gonna be all in a snit about it.”

“Yeah, probably,” Puck agrees, but he’s smiling a little. “See ya.” He turns away and pushes the door open, already scanning the parking lot.

Kurt's parked near the doors, which means he can't do anything other than greet him verbally, but it means he doesn't have to walk any further or keep his eye open any longer, so it's probably a good thing. "Hey," he sighs as he settles in.

"Hi," Kurt says softly, and Puck's hand is picked up and squeezed. "Not really the way I wanted to get a few extra hours with you, I admit, however…"

Puck chuckles. "Yeah, I'll take it." Kurt drops his hand softly and starts the engine, driving them quickly to Kurt's empty house.

"How's it feel now?" Kurt asks they pull up and climb out.

"Eh. It's not throbbing. I'll probably take more of the prescription stuff later. Which, uh."

Kurt grins. "That was interesting."

"I don't remember most of it. Finn said I started to say something about the back seat?"

"You did," Kurt turns a little pink but keeps grinning as they walk in the house. "If we had been alone I think I would have quite enjoyed the conversation."

"Yeah?" Puck grins. They leave their bags in the kitchen and walk up the stairs, Kurt's arm around Puck as they squeeze down the hall side-by-side. "I think it just made me lose my filters or something."

"Probably," Kurt agrees as they step into the bedroom and Kurt closes the door. "Which tells me that clearly I need to increase my budget in one area." He urges Puck to sit down and slowly pulls off Puck's shirt before having him lie down.

"Yeah?" Puck reaches for Kurt, but Kurt just playfully bats his hands away and moves his own hands to Puck's waistband, pulling his pants and underwear down and off easily before standing again.

"Yes. You _really_ like my scarves." Kurt lets his fingers play with the one around his neck for a moment before sliding out of his cardigan and dropping it on the floor.

"Well. Yeah." Puck props himself up on his elbows, watching Kurt. "I told you that before."

"Yes," Kurt acknowledges, his hand going to his waistband as he turns around, and Puck can hear him slowly slide the zipper down. "But I didn't realize the depth of your appreciation." Kurt slowly begins pushing his jeans down, and Puck makes a strangled noise as first the waistband of Kurt's underwear appears, and then… skin.

"Is that…" Puck stops, eyes wide, as Kurt steps out of his jeans and then turns around. "Damn."

Kurt just grins and reaches for the hem of his tank top, pulling it over his head so that he's standing in front of Puck, wearing only a scarf and a thong. A _thong_. "You like this?"

Puck nods, and starts to reach for Kurt, who just steps neatly to the side and shakes his head. "Lie down, baby. You don't want to hurt yourself." He waits until Puck complies, then removes his underwear, hand going last to the scarf around his neck, untying it slowly and dropping it on the floor as he he climbs onto the bed, holding himself above Puck.

Puck bites at his lower lip, looking over Kurt and nodding. "You're beautiful."

"Not pretty?" Kurt teases.

"Pretty, too" Puck agrees, running one hand down Kurt's side.

Kurt lowers his head and places soft kisses all over the bruised area on Puck's ribs before brushing, feather-light, against his lip. Then he turns his attention to Puck's eye and cheek, barely touching them, outlining the bruise with his fingers and kissing the path left in their wake. His self-appointed task complete, he reaches between them to grasp Puck's cock and strokes it gently as he puts his lips over Puck's.

Puck opens his lips under Kurt's, allowing Kurt's tongue to slip deep into his mouth. Kurt's other hand runs over Puck's chest and then captures Puck's hand, twining their fingers together above Puck's head. Puck takes his free hand and rests it on Kurt's hips, his mouth opening wider with Kurt's coaxing.

Kurt slowly pulls away and reaches for his bedside table, coating his fingers in lube before maneuvering his hand behind him. Puck's jaw falls open as he watches. "Oh, blue eyes, that is _hot_ ," he gasps out, feeling himself get even harder.

"Oh?" Kurt raises himself up on his knees and then angles to one side, giving Puck a better view as Kurt's fingers slip inside himself repeatedly.

"Yeah," Puck nods, his voice a little raspy.

"Mmm," Kurt hums as he twists his fingers a little and then withdraws them. Then he reaches for Puck and coats Puck's erection with the gel before kneeling over him, grasping Puck firmly as he slowly lowers himself down.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Puck cries, squeezing Kurt's hand. "You…"

"Me," Kurt agrees, smirking slightly and taking both of Puck's hands in his, curling them around Kurt's erection. He moves up, his cock sliding through Puck's hands and Puck's own cock sliding almost completely out of Kurt, and then sits back down quickly. "Good?"

"Yess," Puck agrees. "You're fucking amazing."

"You are pretty great yourself," Kurt grins, and then lifts himself up again, setting a fast rhythm.

Puck doesn't have anything much to actually do–he suspects that if he tried, Kurt would stop him–so he just watches Kurt, watches as his chest flushes pink, the color climbing up his neck and onto his face. Kurt has his head thrown back just slightly, exposing the curve of his neck and chin, and Puck wants nothing more than to nibble on it, sooth it with his lips. Kurt clenches around Puck as he moves up and down, drawing half-intelligible noises and half-formed words from Puck's lips as his hands tighten around Kurt's erection.

Kurt's lips are barely parted, the tip of his tongue visible between them, his eyes half-open, locked with Puck's, and Puck thinks it's probably some kind of miracle that he hasn't come yet, just watching Kurt and feeling himself inside Kurt. Then Kurt starts talking, his voice soft and the words sweet, running into each other and not always making sense until Puck can't hold himself back any longer, his hips bucking upwards as he comes inside Kurt, and he slides his hands faster on Kurt, urging Kurt to his own climax.

Kurt's body begins to tense and Puck grins, tightening his grip and twisting his hand just enough for Kurt to come with a shout, coating both of Puck's hands. He slowly pulls away from Puck and cuddles against his side, Puck bringing his hands to his mouth and slowly licking them clean as Kurt watches. Puck lets his eyes close as he savors the taste, and he can hear the grin in Kurt's voice when he speaks.

"Good snack?"

"Mmm, the best," Puck agrees, and he turns his face towards Kurt's, rubbing his nose against Kurt's cheek. He pulls Kurt against him and turns onto his left side, eyes still closed.

"Good." Kurt's lips flutter against his, and Puck slowly yields under the pressure, Kurt's tongue following the line of Puck's lips and slowly slipping inside Puck's mouth as it goes. Kurt lets a little moan escape into Puck's mouth, and Puck's arm twitches, Kurt pressing closer to him. “Sleepy?”

Puck nods, eyes still shut. “Should take my pill.”

“Okay.” Kurt slides off the bed, Puck whimpering a little in protest, and brings Puck both a pill and a cup of water from the bathroom sink. Puck sits up just long enough to down the pill and then slip under the covers. “You can sleep for an hour or two before anyone gets home. I’m just going to work on my French reading, okay?”

“Kay.” Puck pulls Kurt’s pillow in his arms and goes to sleep, curled around it.

 

Kurt hangs his cardigan on the back of his desk chair and pulls the rest of his clothes back on, fingers lingering for a moment as he ties on the scarf. He smiles a little at himself in the mirror; knowing how much Puck loves him just the way he is–it’s sort of intoxicating, and he only hopes he does a good job of showing Puck how much Kurt adores him. He picks up Puck’s clothes and folds them in a stack on the far side of the bed before sitting at his desk and starting to plow through his French reading. He knows he’ll need to make sure Puck gets up sooner rather than later; they’re both behind on their English assignments, and he suspects Puck is as behind in history and math as Kurt is in his own math and history classes. Neither high school teachers or college professors really care if you lose a day of study time because you or your boyfriend got beat up by some homophobic idiots.

Finn sees Kurt’s Nav in the driveway when he gets home, and even though he knows Puck is injured, he’s not totally convinced that’ll mean anything, so he enters the house slightly wary. Hearing no unusual--or loud--noises, he figures it’s actually safe to head upstairs.

Kurt’s door is open and the only sound coming from his room is a quiet rustling of papers, so Finn glances in to see Kurt sitting at his desk with a stack of text books. Puck appears to be sound asleep in the bed under Kurt’s giant pile of blankets. Finn has always assumed Kurt must be cold blooded, because that boy has just a ridiculous number of blankets and duvet things.

“Hey,” Finn quietly calls out.

Kurt jumps a little. “Oh! Hi. You scared me,” he adds, voice low.

“Sorry. You doing ok? _Puck_ doing ok?” Finn asks, with a little nod in the direction of the sleeping Puck-lump in the bed.

“He’s sleeping off another one of the prescription painkillers,” Kurt explains. “I’m trying to catch up. Did you know that losing just one day can be almost catastrophic?”

“Uh, not really,” Finn confesses. “But academics aren’t really my strong suit, so maybe none of my classes are the kind that cause catastrophes?”

Kurt chuckles for a moment, a little ruefully. “Maybe not.” He sighs. “How was practice?”

“Interesting. Some interesting stories cropping up about what happened.”

“Like?”

“That Puck took on all three of those guys at once because they insulted glee club, for one. That Johannson threatened to kill Puck, that Puck broke one of Fordham’s teeth. Crazy shit like that,” Finn says, shaking his head. “I don’t know where they get it. Football team is a bigger bunch of gossips than the glee girls.”

“ _That_ is quite a statement,” Kurt says with amusement. “I don’t know, don’t you like the image of a vigilante squad defending the glee club’s honor?”

“Well, I seem to remember Puck offering secret service-type protection to you at one point,” Finn muses. “Maybe we could charge?”

Kurt raises one eyebrow. “I don’t think I want anyone else rendering payment to Puck, thank you very much.”

Finn chokes on a laugh, blushes briefly, and then laughs again. “I was thinking, like, cash, dude. Thanks for the mental image, though. That’ll really get me through my day.”

“Glad I could help,” Kurt says dryly.

“I was thinking about going out to grab some food,” Finn offers, in a quick change of topics. “You want anything? Probably not heading out for another twenty or so.”

Kurt nods his head. “Sure. Any messages I need to pass on to Puck?”

“Mike and Sam both say for Puck to quit acting all pitiful and get back on the field and also to make sure he knows they were kidding when they said that,” Finn responds, with a big grin. “Oh, and Brown said to tell Puck ‘way to go’ and something about seeing him next week. I wasn’t really paying too much attention, since we don’t, like, hang or anything.”

“Okay.” Kurt nods, then frowns. “Who’s Brown?”

“Uhh...Miles, I think. Miles Brown, number 87. He’s a receiver, one of the juniors.”

“Ah. Okay.” Kurt sighs a little. “Is it really only Tuesday?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Yes, my phone keeps insisting the same.”

“This week is dumb,” Finn declares. “I think we should skip the rest of it and go straight to next week. Thoughts?”

“Yes, let’s. Or at least straight to Saturday.”

“Can we skip to Friday night? I mean, I know Puck can’t play this week, but I’d sorta like to get my game in this week.”

“All right, Friday at 7 pm. No earlier.”

“Deal. Now, who do we talk to to make it happen?” Finn wishes he could actually call someone up and get this week to fast-forward, because Puck looks like hell, even bundled up in Kurt’s bedding, and Kurt looks...kinda wrecked and exhausted. Sometimes life is really stupid.

“Good question.” Kurt sighs and manages a tremulous smile. “If I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“Ok, I’m gonna go take care of some stuff and then get food. Think about what you want and I’ll swing back by on my way out.” Finn musters up a warm smile for Kurt, because dude seems to need it, and then heads to his own room to finish up some homework.

 

Puck climbs back to consciousness slowly, listening to the faint murmur of Kurt’s voice and the responding rumble that has to be Finn. Finn’s voice fades and Puck hears his steps going down the stairs, and Puck rolls towards Kurt before letting his eye open.

Kurt’s looking at him, and he smiles. “Hey. Good nap?”

Puck nods, still a little sleepy. “Yeah. What time is it?”

“Not that late. Finn’s going to get us some food.” Kurt stands and crosses to the bed, sitting down next to Puck. “I told him something spicy.”

“Sounds good,” Puck agrees, and he pushes himself into a sitting position, draping his arms over Kurt. “He say how practice was?”

“Rumors already,” Kurt sighs. “He said Mike and Sam said for you to stop faking, but also that they were kidding, or something like that. And Brown said ‘way to go,’ apparently, and something about next week.”

“Brown?”

He can feel Kurt shrug. “Eighty-something? Receiver?”

“Ohh, him.” Puck stiffens a little. “You know, a couple of weeks ago he was asking me about my bruises, which I thought was kind of weird.”

“Your bruises?”

Puck grins. “You apparently can grip pretty hard, blue eyes.”

“Oh.” Kurt pinks up a little. “Wait, on your hips?”

“Yeah.” Puck frowns. “I mean, why was he... you think?”

Kurt pulls away and his eyes are narrowed. “He ought to back off if he knows what’s good for him.”

“Easy, K,” Puck laughs. “There’s only one person I want checking out my bruises. Or causing them.”

“Good,” Kurt smiles, seemingly appeased.

Puck sobers after a moment. "You said rumors already, though?"

"Yeah. Apparently they insulted glee club, or maybe threatened to kill you, or perhaps you broke Fordham's tooth. Who knows what it will be tomorrow."

"Yeah." Puck sighs and rests his head on Kurt. "Kurt, I just…"

"I know," Kurt whispers, and his voice sounds just a little broken. "I know, Puck." Kurt's arms come up to wrap around Puck's neck, and maybe it's that, or maybe it's Kurt's voice, but Puck can feel tears threatening to leak out of his eyes.

"I wish, so bad," he chokes out, and Kurt nods against him, his own cheeks wet.

"Me too," Kurt sobs. "Me too." Puck pulls Kurt closer, into his lap, and their arms tighten around each other, both of them crying quietly. Puck runs his hand gently through Kurt's hair, wishing more than anything he could make either of them feel better. Sometimes Puck feels like he's in a bad made-for-TV movie, except this is his actual life, and Kurt's actual life, and there's no resolution after two hours or even two months, just new problems and new challenges.

And yeah, he's unspeakably happy and grateful that he's scaling it all _with_ someone, but he'd give almost anything for Kurt not to have to do it, for neither of them to have to do it.

Kurt clings to him, his face buried in Puck's neck, and all either of them can do is hold the other tightly, exchanging soft words and breathing deeply. Puck rests the left side of his face on Kurt's head, the soft hair tickling at his nose slightly. His tears begin to slow, and Kurt sniffles a little, obviously trying to stem his own flood. Slowly, Kurt pulls back, and Puck runs his thumb along Kurt's cheek, wiping the residual moisture away.

"Saturday," Kurt says firmly. "We're going to drive down to the Ikea near Cincinnati, and we're going to talk about New York and the apartment we're going to have, and you aren't going to have to put your hands in your pockets the entire day, and we'll have Swedish meatballs for lunch and cinnamon rolls for a snack." He smiles slightly.

"I think there's an app for that," Puck jokes, and Kurt's smile gets bigger.

Puck pulls his clothes back on and follows Kurt down the stairs, putting out plates and utensils just as Finn returns to the house. He comes in with two large bags of Thai takeout and starts to arrange them on the counter without doing much more than smiling an acknowledgement.

Once everything is arranged, Finn says, “Hey, guys” and grabs a plate from the table. He seems to understand that Puck and Kurt aren’t feeling chatty, so he starts rambling on about something that doesn’t seem to require a lot of direct response.

Puck nods in the right places as he fills his own plate, Kurt’s movements mirroring his. Finn’s talking about something having to do with Rachel and her dads and some confusion over the ownership of a pair of pants, but thankfully, none of the details seem to be that important.

“Did you get our history assignment?” Puck finally asks during a lull in Finn’s monologue, because if he’s going to take stock of how far he’s behind, it might as well be the full list.

“Oh, yeah. There was a handout and I got you a copy of it,” Finn says, around a mouthful of pad thai. “I’ll grab it after we eat.”

Puck nods in acknowledgement and takes another bite of his curry, accepting the can of pop from Kurt with a grateful smile. Finn continues on about whatever happened in glee after Puck and Kurt left, but after a few minutes, he gets an odd little look on his face like he’s just figuring something out.

“Hey,” he starts, “do you think Santana and Brittany are, I dunno, an item?”

Puck exchanges an amused look with Kurt. “Well, we never did figure out how Stef figured in to that,” Puck says with a nod.

“And I’m sure April would like us to tell her that they aren’t,” Kurt chimes in.

“Wait, who’s Stef? And who’s April?” Finn looks even more puzzled now than before.

“April’s one of the girls in Aural Intensity. We met her down in Dayton,” Puck explains. “She was very interested in Santana’s picture.” He laughs a little bit.

“And Stef... I don’t know where she came from.” Kurt shrugs. “We’ve seen her out with Santana alone and out with both Santana and Brittany.”

“You don’t think it’s, like, all _three_ of them?” Finn looks very interested in this prospect.

“You look a little too interested in that answer, dude.”

“Hey, just ‘cause you’re gay, doesn’t mean _I_ can’t appreciate the finer female things in life,” Finn laughs. “I mean, where do all the _legs_ go? That’s important stuff right there.”

Kurt scrunches up his face and mock-gags. “I think we officially crossed the line into things I never, _ever_ wanted to think about.”

“Yeah, _I’ve_ been past that line for a while now,” Finn says under his breath. “Nobody ever bothers to consult me on _my_ line.”

“Poor ittle Hudson,” Puck coos.

“Need sound proof walls,” Finn mumbles. “Earmuffs.”

“I’ll be sure to let Carole know what to tell Santa to bring you.” Kurt smiles brightly.

“Yeah, be sure to let her know _why_.” Finn halfheartedly glares in Kurt’s direction.

“‘Carole, Finn has such a hard time concentrating when he should be studying if he thinks I’m having more fun that he is. I think some earplugs would really help him improve his grades,’” Kurt says sweetly.

“Everyone’s having more fun than I am,” Finn grumbles. “You guys. Santana and all her special lady friends. Apparently the only way to get action in this town is to play for the other team.”

Puck laughs, because Finn looks so utterly downcast that it’s the only reasonable response. “You could try joining the Celibacy Club again,” he suggests.

“The Celibacy Club gets more action than I do.”

Puck makes a face. “I so did not need that image.” Kurt shakes his head, making a similar face. “I mean, dude. Teachers.”

“What?” Finn looks confused, and then it slowly dawns on him what Puck and Kurt mean. “Oh, ew. EW. That’s gross, dude.”

“I know!”

“That’s not who I meant!”

“That which has been seen cannot be unseen,” Kurt says with a sad shake of his head, then reaches to the side and snags a bite of Puck’s curry.

“Can’t we go back to talking about Santana and her women?” Finn asks.

“No,” Puck and Kurt chorus together.

“Then pass me the damn curry,” Finn says. “I need _something_ exciting to happen around here.”

Kurt laughs as he picks up the curry and passes it to Finn, and Puck shakes his head with a grin, sliding his arm around Kurt’s waist and pulling him close. “Sucks, dude,” he offers, “but we’re going to be _really_ exciting in a few and do homework.”

“Fun times.”

 

When Kurt drives Puck home, they each still have far too much work left to complete, despite the three hours they’ve just spent studying alongside Finn. “We should do ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams,’” Puck yawns, “instead of that Weezer song.”

Kurt tilts his head for a moment and then nods. “Yes. Send everyone a text.” Kurt parks and walks inside with Puck, wrapping his arm around Puck’s waist as they climb the stairs. They stop outside the door to Puck’s apartment, and Kurt gently takes Puck’s face in his hands and kisses him carefully and lightly. “Be good, baby,” he whispers softly.

“I’m always good,” Puck smiles and touches the tip of Kurt’s nose, then his lips, before unlocking the door and slipping inside.

No one is in the living room, and Puck walks quietly to his room, frankly tired of talking, because he has a feeling his mom and his sister would both like to talk about his bruises and related issues. He makes it, shutting his door quietly and climbing into bed with a bottle of water and his scheduled pill.

Puck pulls out his phone first and sends a text to all the glee guys. _Change of plans. Blvd Broken Dreams instead._ He hits send and then swallows his pill and lies down. Nothing he can do about the next day but face it.

 

Puck hears plenty of whispers but no one says anything to him directly during the first three periods on Wednesday. He very deliberately does not take any of the prescription painkillers, since he needs to actually stay awake. Also aware of his surroundings, apparently.

He and Kurt have just started on physics (in which they thankfully have no quiz, text, or lab report, just a problem set) when Mike walks over and holds out his hand. Puck just looks at him quizzically.

“Well, you obviously can’t dance, but I thought we’d at least use your music today.”

“Oh, uh. Okay.” Puck purses his lips and pulls out his phone, then hands it to Mike. “I had one with music that could be danced to but–”

“What about this one?” Mike interrupts him. “Fuck This Town?”

Puck chuckles and almost everyone else does too. “Yeah, all right.”

Mike walks over and plugs it in, hitting shuffle for the list. Puck’s pretty sure there’s nothing too weird on that playlist. Sure enough, “I Don’t Wanna Be” is the first song that comes on, and Puck nods, turning back to the physics problems. No one says anything about the next two songs, either, but when “Shit Towne” starts, Puck suppresses a grin, wondering if anyone else knows the song or if someone will say something.

“So, that’s an interesting song, dude,” Finn says. Puck also notices that Finn gives him a quick, pointed glance the first time the word “mailman” crops up.

Puck snorts, managing not to laugh at Finn’s look. “Yeah, you think Schue’d let us do that for the next assembly?”

“Yeah, right after our second performance of ‘Push It,’” Finn snorts.

Everyone in the room laughs, and Tina jumps to her feet, hauling Mercedes and Rachel with her to do an impromptu portion of the choreography before they fall back into their seats, laughing.

When “Waiting on the World to Change” is followed immediately by “New York, New York,” Puck grins a little to himself and looks over at Kurt. “That was a great day,” he murmurs.

Kurt looks up, a little surprised, and then nods. “You remember?” he responds, equally quiet.

“Are you kidding?” Puck shakes his head and continues in a whisper. “I thought it was like some kind of sign, K. I’d finally admitted it out loud like, three days before.” He rolls his eyes at himself.

“Really?” Kurt looks sort of impressed. “Yeah, I suppose it would seem that way.” He shrugs. “It was sort of... magical, almost.”

“Yeah.” Puck really, really wants to just lean over and kiss Kurt, kiss him like he would if they were alone in one of their bedrooms and they had a couple of hours to themselves, but he settles for holding Kurt’s gaze and grinning broadly.

When “Running Up That Hill” starts just two songs later, Santana pipes up. “Talk about a mood shift, Puckerman.”

Puck shrugs. “Didn’t put songs in there all at once.”

After the song comes to an end, Puck disconnects his phone and slips it into his pocket, the end of the period fast approaching. He and Kurt grab lunch on the way over to OSU-Lima, and he’s nearly to his class when it hits him that here’s another whole group of people to gasp over his face and interrogate him about it.

Sure enough, by the time class starts, everyone, including the professor, has asked him about it. He goes with the basic story, that he was jumped in the locker room, three to one, because there are some things which he won’t put up with hearing.

No one asks him what those things are, luckily.

No one in his math class says a word, probably because those of them that aren’t already McKinley students are put off by his scowl and Mike’s matching look of scorn. After class is over, he lets himself into the Navigator and curls up on the seat to wait for Kurt.

He must be more tired than he thought, though, because the next thing he remembers, Kurt’s hand is slowly running over his mohawk, and Kurt’s humming slightly. “Hey,” he croaks. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You’re still healing,” Kurt says calmly, hand still tracing the same path. “I need to go to work. You want to sit in the office to study?”

“You sure your dad won’t care?”

Puck can practically hear Kurt shrug. “I say it’s okay.”

Puck chuckles and sits up. “And your dad just has to deal with it?”

“My dad just has to deal with it,” Kurt agrees flippantly.


End file.
